Sherlock And The Jewelled Bud

The murder had sent half the town crazy with fear. Watson had to literally dodge a dozen ponies in order to reach the same bakery he recently passed. He took a peek inside and saw everypony trying to work out what had happened, piling against the windows. Without taking much notice of them he managed to squeeze through the thick crowds and reach the counter where he found what must have been a couple trying to calm two twin foals down.

Watson had a gander at the mouth-watering treats on sale. Everything was unique. Each cupcake had a different pattern of icing, the pies had their own shapes cut into them. But what caught Watson's eye was a glorious slice of chocolate cake beaming out for him to buy it. He couldn't resist.

"Could I get that slice of cake please?" Watson asked, pointing his hoof to his selected cake. He eagerly awaited as Mrs Cake hurried over picked out the right slice, however he didn't expect her to pretty much fling the plate like a Frisbee at him. With a fair amount of agility he stopped the projectile, glad it didn't smash against some poor pony behind him. Not wanting anything else thrown at him he placed a couple if bits down and retreated to a table.

He felt quite alone as almost all the tables around him were vacant due to the curious ponies scouring every window for information on the events outside. He thought back to the last time ponies crowded around a victim. He had to make sure nopony broke through to see what had happened. He found a tremor in his leg once again.

Using his hooves he picked up the cake, took a large bite and savoured the taste. Instantly his mind drew away from those memories and towards the sweet chocolate. His manners were primitive as he never saw Pinkie Pie approaching him from the crowd, and so when he saw her he nearly choked on the cake. He found he only ended up dirtying himself even more when he tried to wipe off the residue.

"Hi," she said, taking no notice of the mess he had made or his shaking leg "how come you aren't looking at the thing?"

Watson knew what she was referring too, but he acted dumb anyway. He didn't really feel like getting into it too much. "Thing?"

Pinkie rolled her eyes and waved at the crowd behind her. "That thing. Something's happened to somepony."

"Yes, there's been a murder." It hadn't been the first time Watson had to say this to citizens, and he hoped it would be the last.

Pinkie's reaction was not surprising; she gasped, looked worried then asked "What happened?"

Suddenly his leg became still. He leaned forwards onto the table and tried to recollect a detailed story of what happened, but even he wasn't sure, after all Sherlock Holmes and blown his theory back in his face and added another layer of mystery to it. All he remembered was seeing two shadows, himself running towards them and finding a dead mare, so that's what he said.

"Who would do that? Ponyville's a nice place." Pinkie's head dropped as she took a seat. Watson could see this business was bothering her so he change the subject.

"This cakes fantastic. Do you know who made it?" Realising who baked it wasn't rocket science, but it was the best he could come up with.

"I made it, I'm surprised you can still eat after seeing a dead mare." Actually, he was surprised that she made it.

He lifted up her chin and attempted to cheer her up. "Well compliments to your cooking, it's the best cake I've eaten in a while." He saw a little smile and knew he was succeeding. "The reason I can eat it at a time like this is because-"

"You were in the military service as a field medic stationed in Trottingham and the things you saw there make this murder look like child's-play." Sherlock had zoned into the conversation. He was sat on a table a little bit behind Watson with a blank expression on his face. Watson turned and released a breath of annoyance.

"How? Who told you I was in the Royal Guard and where did you come from?"

Sherlock didn't bother to answer his questions. Instead he carried on with his deduction. "I also know that the only reason you're in Ponyville is because you mother recently passed away therefore giving you no real reason to remain in the city where memories of many horrors due to your job and lingering thoughts of your deceased family constantly flow through your head whenever you have moments to yourself. Thus you came to Ponyville after hearing that the jobs offered in the Royal Guard here are generally peaceful and the town itself is nice enough to settle down in."

Watson's mouth was gaping open. He was speechless towards the short biography spoken out to him from a stranger. Sherlock simply stood there smiling, knowing he was right.

Pinkie Pie's lit up with excitement. "Wow, do me! Do me!" she asked, jumping on the spot.

Sherlock sighed, but still did as she requested. "You have a double personality. Watson here did something to please you recently, and now you're trying to strengthen your bond in fear that you might again lose him as a" Sherlock nearly spat out his next word "friend. Quite pathetic really, you long to please everypony to satisfy yourself, halting at nothing to ensure you are on good terms with them so you don't suffer psychological depression. I don't feel for you if I am honest, having one friend is bothersome, a whole town of them foolish." He looked at her with disgust, as if she was an unnatural creature.

Pinkie didn't respond at first. She gave a half-hearted giggle as clear blushes formed on her cheeks. "Are you my friend Dr Watson?"

"Of course, you're one of the only ponies who's made me smile." He was telling the truth, he hadn't really met anypony fun in the few days he'd been in Ponyville.

"And you? She said this to Sherlock who rolled his eyes.

"I don't have friends."

She fled outside to cover the tears forming in her eyes, though Watson had caught a glance of them.

"What did you do that for?" Watson said with a serious tone, almost father-like "She meant no harm and you ridiculed her!"

Sherlock just looked at him innocently. "She's a bit young for you."

Once again Watson choked on his cake. He was beginning to fear eating anything with other ponies around. "Hang on a minute, she came to me. It. Was. A. Friendly. Conversation."

"Well then what did I say wrong? I told her the truth." It seemed to Watson that Sherlock hadn't the faintest what he did wrong.

He shook his head and gave Sherlock a stare "Sometimes it's better to keep the truth to yourself to save the embarrassment of others."

"It doesn't matter, I'm not here for her. Dr Watson, will you help me solve this murder case?"

He was taken aback. What made Sherlock think he wanted to get involved with death once again? "Why would I want to do that?"

"I saw how quickly you decided to take the autopsy into your own hands, and how disappointed you were when I asked you to leave." Sherlock saw that Watson wasn't completely convinced. "Your right leg."

Watson's eyes fell to his leg, then straight back up to Sherlock. "Wh... What about my leg?"

Sherlock gave a hearty laugh "Your leg was shaking when I came in here, however once you and that mare got into the subject of murder it stopped instantly. Oh Watson how you love this line of work, after all if you hated it your leg would tremor as soon as 'death' is mentioned."

Watson really didn't know what to say. He was outsmarted, he was defeated. And to be honest it wasn't a bad thing at all.

"Dammit Sherlock."

Sherlock's face gleamed with joy, the most expression Watson had seen yet. They jumped up, trotted out of Sugarcube Corner and down the street a little, passing the crime scene. Sherlock was the one leading and as they reached the fountain in the town square they slowed to a walk. Watson took this opportunity to break down Sherlock's skill, if you could call it that.

"So," Watson said as he admired the fountain "how'd you do that thing?" Sherlock only gave him a raised eyebrow for an answer, so Watson continued "You know, how did you know about my past? Research?"

"How could I possibly research you in the time between meeting you at the crime scene and speaking with you in Sugarcube Corner? Oh, and are you homosexual?"

Watson couldn't help but do a double take. He stared at the ground for a moment, then he gazed at Sherlock with eyes which read 'what in Equestria?'. "No."

"All right. You were in the military service as a Royal Guard Field Medic because of your cutie mark, quite obvious really. I know that you were stationed in Trottingham because of your accent. Anypony who’d have either been born there and moved to another city or vice versa would have a mixed accent, but since you've never been away long enough to pick one up your accent is completely native. I grew up there too, nice isn't it?" Sherlock's eyes darted around as if there was a screen in front of his face when he spoke, and Watson stopped trying to follow them after it got quite ridiculous.

"Well," he continued "nice apart from the constant stabbings and such which brings me onto me knowing that you have seen worse than the murder here. Murders in Trottingham are both numerous and considerably more brutal than here in Ponyville, mainly due to the ponies who live there generally do worse than a simple stab. Most thrive for revenge. As a medic you had to treat the victims and so you consequently had a close up view to the monstrosities committed.

"Your jumper told me that your mother recently died. How? Because when you inspected the body of that dead mare I watch you for a while and caught sight of your name marked onto the tag of your jumper with a love heart. And who would put a love mark next to the tag? No stallion, so either your mother or marefriend.

"I can see you're not married because your here alone looking for a home. If you were divorced and that jumper was a gift you would have almost definitely gotten rid of it, therefore the only female in your life with nothing to do with a relationship and enough money to buy you it would be your mother. Why did a mare buy you it? Well, it's horrid. No stallion would be caught within a mile radius of something like that in a shop."

Watson growled at Sherlock, though listening intently. “Finished?” he said sincerely.

“No. I know your mothers dead because of the condition of your jumper. Ponies often don’t wear clothing so you have kept that jumper for a good reason. Back in Trottingham you would have kept it clean, washing it many times causing the wool to wear and the colour to fade probably because you had regular contact with your mother. Perhaps you visited her often or maybe you lived with her. However now it is dirtier, less looked after, but you still wear it. You keep it as a reminder of your mother; a gift from her."

When he finished Sherlock tightened his scarf slightly and possessed a grin which made it clear to anypony that he was happy with himself. Dr Watson on the other hand was silent. His face was blank and neither of them spoke for the rest of the journey.

A group of three fillies sprang out from a otherwise quiet cafe. They all wore a cape but Watson took no notice. He was still astounded. They stopped right beside the cafe, at a large wooden door with the marking '221B' printed beneath the window. Sherlock held his hoof out as if to present the residence.

"Here we are" he said with enthusiasm "221B Baker Street. Quite funny really, we're still on the same street as that bakery. I would have thought that explains the streets name though. I'll explain more on the murder when we get inside."

"Sherlock? Can I say something." Watson now spoke rather coolly, and he stood up straight in an failed effort to match Sherlock's height. Sherlock didn't respond as he thought he knew what was coming, after all his deductions never really got positive reception. "That was brilliant!" he said with a chuckle "Absolutely genius, fantastic!"

"Really?" Sherlock said with joy, startled by Watson's unusual reaction "That's a change."

"Change from what? People telling you to piss off?" He replied jokingly.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Precisely."