Sherlock And The Jewelled Bud

by ReniSquire

Rating: teen
Tags: Adventure, Crossover
Length: 7964

After serving his time in the Royal Guard Dr Watson travels to Ponyville in hopes of settling down, however when Sherlock Holmes enters his life Ponyville opens up into much more than a mere town, it becomes a battlefield.

Dr Watson is a pony who longs for nothing more than a place to live and a simple job to put bread on the table, or so he thinks. It is when he meets Sherlock Holmes through a murder case that Watson realises how much he misses his old life as a Royal Guard Medic, and forces himself into Sherlock's world to experience Ponyville on a different scale altogether.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2013-02-25 20:55:02 UTC

The Jab

A rather excited voice sounded from within quite an unusual library. The storage of knowledge had been moulded to fit inside a huge, magnificent tree which stood tall above many of Ponyville’s establishments. The mare’s voice was that of Twilight Sparkle, a lavender pony whom was both the town librarian and the Princess’s student; quite the jobs if you asked most ponies.

“Not at all, Mr Watson.” She said as she slipped a few books into one of the hundreds of shelves circulating the library. “I think it’s a very interesting idea seeing as how you’re experiences have left you with quite the mindset.”

Twilight was speaking to a pony of about the same age as her. A dirty blonde mane covered his head and neck, stopping at the pale woollen jumper he wore over his khaki coat. Watson had recently retired as a royal guard pony, and many had told him how his cutie mark stood out different to most of the royal guard’s. Sure it was a green medical cross but there was more to it as a miniature magnifying glass was centred inside it, and even Watson wasn’t sure why he had it in the first place.

A smile came across his face. It had been a fair time since he got on with anypony, never mind have one agree with him. “Really?” He asked ecstatically “It’d be an honour if you could look after them here.” He gave out a slight chuckle “I’ll have to write the books first, of course, but when it comes to it I can’t imagine just leaving them lying about my house.

The librarian turned to face him after she ran out of books to put away. Her cutie mark was a series of stars, all different shapes however Watson hadn’t bothered to ask as he had only arrived a few days prior and knew little of her and her friends’ exploits. She noticed his right hoof shook rather violently for a few seconds, and then returned to normal. Watson caught her look and shook his head. “It’s nothing” he reassured “just happens sometimes.

She stared at him for bit, but she couldn’t seem to get anything more.

“Like I said; if you manage to finish one I’ll happily keep it safe. After all, look at them all.” Twilight spoke proudly, and rightly so! As there were many, many books to keep in check. An after thought suddenly struck Twilight causing her ears to perk. “I’ll even set up an exhibition, or celebration! Believe it or not I don’t get many authors’ visiting and I know just the pony to help me-“

Watson feared a large group of ponies reading something he wrote, especially as he hadn’t written anything since he was a colt. He immediately tried to talk her out of it. “No, no that won’t be necessary. A place for them to stay will be fine. Besides, I’m not sure if I’m even going to be able to write a single page yet.” Watsons tone lowered to a serious and sad one. “Nothing much happens to me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun rose up high, indicating Watson it was noon. Not a cloud could be seen in the crystal blue sky and everypony was out enjoying the warmth. He had decided to have a long walk around Ponyville to get himself more acquainted with the large town while on his way to the station to find some work. He passed numerous friendly ponies, each with their own ‘good morning’s and good wills. He also passed a particular pony whom he narrowly avoided after remembering how rudely he treated her.

On the first day he arrived in Ponyville his mind was set on sour memories from his job. As he turned a corner a pink pony corner unexpectedly burst out with confetti and song. He was feeling down so as polite as he could he told her he wasn’t interested in what she was selling, however things turned bitter when he barged passed her as she tried to explain herself, leaving the energetic pony in the dust.

Up ahead Watson could see a vendor selling bouquets of roses, tulips and the sorts. “Convenient.” He said with a sigh to himself, knowing it was the prefect time for an apology. He approached the stall in embarrassment and browsed the flowers for a moment. When he finally made his decision he said with a gulp “Roses please.”

The salesman looked up from his newspaper and peered over to his price list. “Five bits” he said with a grunt, looking back to his paper.

Watson reached into his jumper pocket and retrieved five bits. He threw them onto the counter and waited for the florist to get him the roses, though after a while of waiting Watson grew impatient and simply picked his own; a beautiful set of white. He set them on his back and began to head off, but a voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Oi, you never said white.” The florist said with a harsh voice. Clearly it wasn’t his day. Red anger flushed his orange face as he dropped the paper and stared into Watson’s eyes.

Watson rolled his eyes. “What difference does it make? White are cheaper than red anyway.” The florist grunted and returned to reading is paper. Watson stood there confused with a frown, trying to work out a decent explanation for the words exchanged.

As he headed off the pink pony appeared from inside a bakery of sorts. Sweet smells seeped from every window and door as Watson neared Sugarcube Corner, though he reminded himself that was not his purpose. Once he felt he was within decent range he called over the pony.

“Excuse me!” he shouted, now trotting over to the bakery. “Excuse me! You! Yes!”

The mare had caught his eye and a mixed expression came over her. She bore a nervous smile, though Watson ignored it for he bore a nervous smile also.

“Well... um... Hi!” He said kindly, trying to find the right words. “About that incident a few days ago. I’m sorry I pushed you its just... I was in a foul mood and I really wanted to get home. Will you accept my apology?”

A spark glistened in the pink pony’s eyes as she conjured up a grin the size of half her face. “Of course I forgive you!”

Watson chuckled in joy. “Really? I... got you these” He bowed his head to reveal the roses on his back, and bucked slightly to roll them down his neck to the mare’s feet “you know, something extra.”

“Oh wow! These are beautiful Mr...”

“Dr Watson. Glad to meet you.”

“Pinkie Pie.” She replied, shaking his hoof with a smile.

Watson took a glance down the street and reckoned it was time he’d be off. “Anyway Pinkie Pie I need to head over to the station so I’ll leave you be. I’ll see you later.”

Pinkie seemed saddened by his sudden leave but she quickly regained her enthusiasm. “Yep, I’ll catch ya later!”

With a grin Watson took in a deep breath of relief and walked towards a large, rectangular building with the sign ‘Royal Yard’ printed above the doorway which was situated a ways down the road. It was then he noticed how few roads connected Ponyville and instead there were various long stretches of path. He liked it. Everything was easier to find.

The stallion had nearly reached his destination when he had to look twice at a dark alleyway between two towering houses. He thought he saw a shape there, of a stallion against the wall. But then something else took form. Something on the floor.

Watson bolted towards the opening, only just avoiding a collision with a panicking child. As he grew closer a figure took shape on the ground and Watson feared the worst. As he entered the shadow of the alley he nearly fell over what he saw.

“No, please no, not today” he muttered as he realised what he had come across; a mare’s body lain against the moist floor with a bloody wound piercing her chest. “S... Somepony! Somepony help! Get the guard!” He yelled at the top of his voice into the street, attracting the attention of many folk. “Murder for Celestia’s sake, get the guard!”

Instantly a rush of hooves galloped to the station, some more panicked than others. Adrenaline kicked into Watson and without thinking his medical days came back to him. He checked her pulse and felt nothing, so without fearing further damage he inspected the wound. He tried not to get blood on his hooves but the murder was a messy one, and it turned out to be useful when he did.

“Blood still warm, recent... stab through lung meaning no scream... eyes open in shock... cut jarred so quick removal of blade, somepony else saw? Blood from ear most likely cause by fractured skull pushed away? Quick getaway? Bags of food on floor, through here for a short cut then?”

“Go on.”

Watson’s heart skipped a beat as he realised somepony was looming over him. He jumped up to view a stranger with an intrigued look on his face. He could just make out the stallion’s dark grey coat and curly jet black mane, and the scarf around his neck.

“No please, carry on.” He sounded sincere, and on top of that he handed Watson a wipe to clean off the blood from his hooves.

Watson gave a few odd looks from the body to the stranger but he eventually pieced together his theory. “Well from the looks of things this mare usually takes this route as a shortcut when getting her shopping home, however on this unlucky afternoon she ran into a particularly bad equine. This pony knew their stuff as he or she stabbed her in the lungs to prevent her from screaming.

"However the killer must have seen somepony close by as he quickly pulled the knife out of the body causing the bones around it to move according to the blade, a very unnatural look for a ribcage indeed. The killer then pushed away the body to stop any blood from spurting onto him therefore causing her skull to fracture as it hit the ground hard.”

The stranger was impressed, though his cheeky smile said something wasn’t clear. “Well the autopsy is correct however the reason behind this murder isn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because my good sir if you’ll follow me you’ll see there is no exit from this alleyway other than the way you came in.” The grey stallion had lead Watson further into the alley and showed him that the path which branches off left leads to a brick wall, whereas to the right an iron gate locked tightly blocks anypony’s escape. “Therefore she was lured in. Bait, perhaps, or maybe she knew the murderer.”

Before Watson’s new acquaintance continued he stopped the investigation. “Wait a minute, who are you?”

The stallion’s eyes narrowed in disgust. “Dr Watson! There is a murder at hand and you are wasting valuable seconds investigating the wrong pony. Now then, if you have nothing further to add could you please remove yourself from the scene. It would be greatly appreciated, as is your help so far.” Watson tried to argue back a reason to stay but all the mysterious pony said was “Good day!” with a slightly agitated tone.

Watson sighed and exited the alleyway, suspecting the pony was an inspector or something. He constantly looked back, even locking eyes with the stallion a couple of times in which he panicked for a moment for he was a very intimidating pony. As the sunlight shone against Watson's coat he was forced to give way to several guards who had finally shown to answer the cries of murder, and in good time too as they didn’t catch him scanning the body.

His ears caught hold of the conversation as he overheard one of them asked who he was and what he was doing there, however the stallion lied to them, claiming “He’s with me”, finally giving Watson a reason to smile.

Then after a pause he heard the same voice shout “Dr Watson! Name’s Sherlock Holmes, a pleasure to meet you!”

Afternoon, Mr Holmes

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."

Welcome!

The door to 221B slammed shut behind Sherlock as the two ponies entered the flats. Shuffling could be heard from a room opposite the stairs which grew in an upward spiral a couple of metres away from the door. The sound of cups shaking on a tray grew closer as an old mare fluttered into the room. She blew her golden brown mane out of her eyes and paused when she noticed Sherlock had company.

"Oh, Sherlock you've got a friend." Watson saw that she was holding her dinner on a tray, though he couldn't work out whether or not she was struggling with it.

Sherlock didn't hear her and began heading up the stairs, leaving Watson unacquainted.

"Hello, I'm Dr Watson." He said kindly.

A loud sigh came from above Watson. He saw Sherlock exhibiting an unneeded look of agitation. "Mrs Hudson would you please stop holding up my colleague."

Watson wasn't sure if he should expected the sudden rudeness, but it seemed Mrs Hudson let it go for now.

"I'll bring up some tea." She meant well, though from the looks of her she could also stand her ground.

They both trotted upstairs into a room filled with boxes of books, papers, trinkets, pretty much the beginnings of a hoarder. Stacks of dusty collectables were stacked against each other, held up by the sheer weight of everything squished together. Regardless of the mess Watson immediately fell in love with the place.

He had a wander around the large flat, inspecting the ancient wooden walls and the traditional stone fireplace in the living room while avoiding the kitchen after seeing a chemical cloud rising from a pot of purple liquid. He tested out the comfort of every chair and sofa, though concluded they were all fine after an enormous cloud of dust soared from a small, stained brown hoof-chair. Just before he continued he spotted Sherlock staring at something.

"What's wrong?" Watson asked when he noticed Sherlock had bent down to examine a dusty, overturned corner of the large red rug which spread across most of the room.

Sherlock didn't say a word back so Watson assumed it was nothing. He passed through the kitchen with speed, ducking under the abnormally coloured smoke, to check out the rooms back there. A chilly draft waved in from the master bedroom,  however before he could take another step a masked figure pounced from the shadow of the door, catching him off guard. In a matter of seconds Watson was on the floor with the hooves of a pony dressed in black around his neck.

"Watson be careful. I think somepony's here." Sherlock warned, shouting from the other room unaware of Watson's current situation.

His eyes watered as he tried to shout back to Sherlock, but he couldn't break free of the assassins grasp.

"John?"

With a hard push off his back he kicked up with his back legs and luckily hit the assassin's belly, sending him flying backwards against one of the counters in the kitchen. A number of pots to crashed down onto the floor, one thumping the assassin on the head as he sat there in a doze.

"Sherlock!" He yelled with a raspy voice, still recovering from being choked. Without delay Sherlock sped into the kitchen and whipped the assassin with a hard buck on the chin. Blood splattered against the white kitchen tiles as he coughed violently at the mercy of Sherlock and Watson.

"Not exactly the welcome party I was hoping for." Watson said with a sarcastic tone, rubbing his sore throat.

"Well they were all out of clowns. Who are you?" Sherlock spat, pinning him against the floor. The detective ripped off the stallions mask to reveal a grey pony, his mane darker than his coat. "Come on, what's your name?"

The grey pony was still in the middle of a coughing fit and Sherlock wan't making it any easier for him to recover. "Pine Breeze" was the name they managed to retrieve, though Sherlock still wasn't happy.

"John, get me some tape. It's in the third drawer." Sherlock ordered, looking over at a wooden chair.

As Watson searched for the tape something occurred to him. "How do you know my name's John?" Even John didn't believe it was possible to deduce a first name. Once he found the grey masking tape he bent down next to Sherlock and helped him move their newly made prisoner.

First they tied each leg to the chair, then his neck to keep his head back. As they did this Sherlock gave his answer. "Lucky guess."

John wasn't satisfied with that. Where was Sherlock's amazing explanation? "Rubbish" he said bluntly.

"What?" They had finished strapping Pine Breeze to the chair and now they were arguing in front of him.

The velvet curtains slid together as John concealed their prisoner from anypony in a position to look inside. "Surely you had something to go on?" He ran across to the door and shut it gently.

"J. Watson is what I read on your jumper tag. You're reluctant to give out your first name after all it's a bit odd around these parts but not non existent as its a fairly common name in Trottingham. Happy?" John returned to Sherlock's side and shook his head. "Lucky. Guess."

The thick brown floorboards nearly cracked as John stomped in frustration. "Damn your lucky guess." He took a few breaths and tried to calm himself down "Just, don't tell anypony else it, please?"

There wasn't much wrong with the name in Sherlock's opinion. After all, it's just a name isn't it? It won't help you solve crimes or anything like that.

"I won't." John gave a thankful nod of his head. "Now to Pine Breeze. You're a gardener hired to kill me." Both John and Pine Breeze wondered how he found that out, so without another thought Sherlock explained. "What does he smell like, John?"

Reluctantly John took a whiff of the air around Pine Breeze and immediately he realised what Sherlock was getting at. "Cut grass." He said with confidence. With this Sherlock held up his hoof to reveal a couple strands of thin grass.

"These were in his mane. What is the date?

John went over to a calender above the fireplace and read "Thirteenth of December."

Once again Sherlock was pacing, though now he reached each end of the room. "Why would anypony be cutting grass at this time of year?"

"There could be odd jobs here and there." John replied as he tried to recollect any place in Ponyville with long grass.

In any case Sherlock wasn't without concern. "No, no there's not enough money in it for a pony to make a living on, especially since most ponies take it into their own hooves when it comes to gardening. Now we have a motive, you needed money."

John was shocked. If this pony's motive was needing money surely then this pony couldn't be the murderer. "So this pony isn't the murder?" He asked to clear up his suspicions.

Sherlock laughed at this question, thinking it ridiculous. "Of course not John. Why would a murderer who's used a knife to kill three ponies be here with nothing but his hooves?"

Maybe John had missed a detail but hadn't there been only one murder? Just as he was about to ask three knocks came from the door. Both ponies readied themselves to ambush whoever it was, hiding at each side of the door. It creaked open slowly and Sherlock let out a war cry. John hadn't bothered to attack as he saw who it was; Mrs Hudson. She let out a scream but managed to keep her tray upright to the advantage of Sherlock as she was ready to thrust boiling liquid all over him. Luckily she was used to his antics.

She tutted at him for giving her such a fright. "Sherlock what on earth are you doing?" She fluttered in and placed the tray onto the only empty table in the room. Her cutie mark was of two bluebirds facing one another. The first sang while the other held a key in it's mouth. Her tan coat was fairly wrinkled but complimented with the colour of the mark.

"Sorry Mrs Hudson." Sherlock said back like a drained child to a teacher "Thanks for the tea. Get the guards would you please?"

She saw the third member of Sherlock's company, although she wouldn't be getting any tea for this one. Mrs Hudson wasn't a stupid pony, she knew what had happened down to the the blood running down Pine Breeze's chest, so she rushed out to do as asked. Sherlock took a sip of his tea and continued the interrogation.

"You've been hired to kill me, but by whom?" The killer had said very little since Sherlock hit him in the jaw and everytime he moved his mouth he would either wince or cry in pain. Watson had picked up on this.

"Can you speak?" Watson said with some concern.

He received a shake of he head, and to further add to the reasoning Sherlock added "Even if he could it wouldn't matter, we wouldn't get what we want. He hasn't been sent here to kill us. He's a warning."

"From who?" John sounded quite worried now. "The murderer?"

Sherlock yawned and stepped over to the window. "Could be. Ah, the guards are here. Celestia there useless. How long did it take them to arrive at the crime scene earlier when somepony had died, yet when there's an attempt they rush over at the speed of sound?"

Watson had stopped listening at 'guards'. He was thinking over who else but the killer would want Sherlock dead. Then it struck him. What criminal didn't want him dead?

Links

A pair of empty tea cups sat on the same cream tray with which they had been brought in. A small section of the room had been cleared by Sherlock of any stacks of books, papers and general oddities, allowing space for a table big enough for both ponies to stand around to be moved over. Though in John's perspective he had only made even more of a mess due to there now being a dangerously high mound of variables in one corner of the room. To make it worse the pile was beside the fireplace.

The guards had questioned the two predictably for a while. They asked for reasons why somepony wanted Sherlock dead, as if they didn't know, but it became quickly apparent to John that Sherlock had a reputation with the force. It didn't take long before they were either literally pushed out by him, or made enough of a mockery of that they were forced to leave. However one good thing came out of the whole event as Sherlock managed to acquire some evidence from the guards on the grocery mare's murder.

John didn't mind one way or another; he was always treated with respect from the 'military'. Generally they acted as no more than guards, but every now and again, as Watson had experienced, they got their hands dirty. Although, they often played on Sherlock's nerves, so in sweet revenge he enjoyed deducing a few private matters belonging to the guard ponies he particularly didn't like.

With the room feeling vacant after the rush of officials the two could finally get down to business. John had opened a window to let some of the thick air out of the room, after all a cramped flat with a dozen ponies was no comfortable matter. It had turned chilly outside and light snow was expected as the Pegasi claimed that they wanted to finally give a taste of true winter to everypony seeing as how no snow had yet fallen this year. They welcomed the cold air though, it was a nice change from their stuffy accommodation, especially after Watson took off his jumper which began to stick to his coat.

Laid on the ebony table Sherlock and Watson stood around was a group of photos of the dead mare and a shopping bag filled with many items.

"Well then John," Sherlock began with a childlike excitement "let's get down to business. First things first; there's been two murders in Ponyville separate from the mare in the alleyway."

Even though he had heard this news recently it still struck him. It was truly a mystery why somepony in Ponyville, the place he had heard to be wonderful and peaceful with a friendly community would kill like that.

A thin stream of steam flew from Watson's nostrils as the cold air seeped into the room. "Both stabbed in the lungs?"

Sherlock eye's didn't meet Watson's when he answered, instead they were away in the planes of his mind. "Yes, Glimmer Jule and Ruby Neigh, both murdered for no apparent reason. Well, until now that is."

Watson was intrigued. "Why?"

"Because John," Sherlock spread the pictures with a swift hoof to reveal three separate ponies, one on each photo, "each of these ponies are missing something and it wasn't until this murder that he revealed, unbeknownst to him, what it is." John took a close look at each picture and waited for a few seconds for him to work it out. John shrugged. "Oh come on John. Here." Sherlock was still wearing his night-sky blue scarf, even throughout the sauna-like conditions with the guards, but now Watson saw the reason for it.

As he took off the scarf he fished out a long, crumpled stretch of paper which had been clearly stuffed into it before anypony saw . "This receipt tells us otherwise." He tried to hand the receipt to John with the words "What is missing from the bag?"

"Isn't that evidence withheld from the authorities?" John said back, refusing to take the paper.

It was always a thorn in Sherlock's side when he heard someone praising the guard. "It doesn't matter." He said confidently "They wouldn't do much with it anyway."

As an ex-guard Watson's pride crept back for a moment as she shouted "Sherlock, you're breaking the law!"

"Just have a look. What good will it do reporting it now Mr Law and Order?" Sherlock held it out with an open leg, wishing he would hurry up and take it. Though he condemned the act Watson followed Sherlock's command and, with hesitation, took the receipt. As he read Sherlock slipped on his scarf, tying it through a loop knot.

Watson took a little while to check off each item, causing Sherlock to pace rapidly and start walking over furniture impatiently. He demanded John hurried up a couple of times but he received the same response: "You told me to do this." Eventually John figured out the missing item. "It say's she bought... wait no..." he double checked it again "she was given a 'pirate costume'?" Now Watson really was baffled. "I suppose you know why?" He hoped Sherlock would set things in order and give an explanation.

"Not yet," John reckoned they were lost "but did you notice anything else about the items in the bag."

The contents of the grocery bag were spilled across the table, just like the pictures. John took a look, just like he did the pictures, and again his answer was a shrug of his khaki shoulders.

Sherlock yelled out in frustration. "Why can't you just open your eyes? Why do ponies have to be so utterly dim?"

"Hang on, what's that supposed to mean?"

A look of disbelief came over Sherlock as his eyelids shut tight. "You never think, never actually look at things you just gaze passed them like trees in the distance! The rose, John! There's a rose!"

John sniffled as Sherlock pushed the rose into his nose. He wafted it away, thought a sneeze was coming which never arrived, then scanned the receipt for a third time. "Oh right. So?"

Before Sherlock could respond he noticed Mrs Hudson had returned. She couldn't really be bothered with the guards. Ask her yourself and she would give you a good reason why. Something John had yet to find out.

"Don't be so ignorant, John. 'So?' is something a child would say. Never dismiss evidence." It seemed as though John was getting a telling off from Sherlock in front of Mrs Hudson. A bit embarrassing on his part. "It's important because the other two bodies were found with a single white rose too. It's a sign." Suddenly an idea sprang into his mind. "Perfect!" he said in an outburst.

He leapt over to the pile of papers and searched for two pieces which were blank, as well as a pen. He found the former but couldn't scavenge a pen. He tried to remember where he last had one, but when he opened his eyes he found Watson holding up a fountain pen to his face.

"Thank you. Now, Mrs Hudson, John, could you two please draw a birds eye view of a rose. Nothing artsy, just a simple, rough drawing in five seconds."

With an odd guise on each of their faces Hudson and John put pen to paper and drew their sketch. Sherlock actually timed them and stopped them when he counted to five. He was glad with the result. Both ponies had drawn five petals pointing outward from a centre of gold.

"Excellent," he said with his leg around Watson's neck "see how many petals there are?"

Both answered "Five." simultaneously.

"This is only a possibility, but I think the killer is going to strike two more times before he's done." Sherlock took a few steps back and rested his chin on his hoof.

"Well if that's true then shouldn't we be trying to stop him?" When he gained no answer he continued "Right now, I mean. Y'know, find the next target." Mrs Hudson vaguely knew what was going on however more pressing matters were at hand for herself, and since she knew she wouldn't get the answers she needed she excused herself as Sherlock stood in deep thought.

If Sherlock gave his true answer there and then the tone of the room would have changed rapidly, for the worse. Instead he opted for a more hopeful option and reclaimed the receipt from earlier.

"We need to find whoever sold the goods to our grocery mare." He lifted the receipt so the signature was both underneath and above a source of light. Then he smelled the ink and rubbed it with the stub of his hoof. "Stallions handwriting, unicorn from the looks of it, though big boned as he presses down hard on the pen." He turned his head to Watson "Unicorns usually apply the same force of magic as they would to something they do with their hooves. Ball pen, cheap, he works behind the counter where they are always signing things off."

Watson was getting used to this deduction so he piece it together in no time. "So our pony is a big boned unicorn who is stuck behind a till for most of the day? Shouldn't be too hard to find." He glanced outside and noticed that it was now evening. "We better go now then, before his shift ends." As he set off he realised something. "Did you call the dead mare 'grocery mare'?"

Sherlock nodded, seeing nothing wrong with it.

"Don't you have the decency to at least find out the victims name?"

A hundred reasons why knowing the name of a victim is pointless flowed through Sherlock's brain, but out of somewhere a fine idea clicked. "John you genius. What to Ruby Neigh and Glimmer Jule have in common? There names at least, yes, but in this case their occupation. Their jobs!" It occurred to Watson that Sherlock would answer his own questions this time. "They both worked with jewellery. First things first, lets find this unicorn. But now we've got something to search for!"

Sherlock galloped out of 221B calling back "Leave the jumper!" before Watson could get out of the door, like a colt running to his favourite sweet shop. As he was left in the dust Watson hurried down the stairs, opened the door and skidded to a standstill as Sherlock had stopped right in front of it. Only now did Watson notice how peculiar Sherlock's cutie mark was. He wasn't aware of his cutie mark until now, unknowingly neglecting it; A magnifying glass zoomed in on a brain filled with black question marks. Strange indeed Watson thought.

Sherlock turned to face his friend sat on his rump and staring at Sherlock's. For now he let it go and simply proceeded to to turn left and seek out the unicorn. As soon as Watson made eye contact with Sherlock he shot up and followed him, coughing nervously.

The evening grew darker as many ponies decided it was time to return home. Something provoked John to speak out against Sherlock for the incident with Pinkie Pie. He honestly felt sorry for that pony, after all her intentions were purely good.

"Could you please apologise to Pinkie Pie next time you see her?" John noticed he took a father role in odd conversations here and there, and while he didn't like it he thought it necessary. "There was no need for you to ruin her day."

The fountain began spurting less and less water as it slowly shut down for the night. "Not this again. I told her the truth, would you rather I lie?"

John thought that was reasonable. "Yes! Why not? At least you won't be sending her away in tears again."

"I can't John, you don't know what she's like." That was true, Sherlock had resided in Ponyville a good while longer than John, therefore he knew the ponies quite a bit better. "She's like a tapeworm. Once she's got you there's no getting her off."

"Don't compare a pony to a tapeworm." He shuddered at the thought.

Sherlock raised his head to the stars and said "Have you ever heard of the Elements of Harmony?"

"Of course."

"But you've never heard of them in relation to Ponyville?" John wondered what he was getting at.

After a good, hard think he replied with "No."

"You've a lot to learn about Ponyville then, John."