//------------------------------// // Chapter one: The crime scene // Story: Sherlock Hooves. Adventure one: Greg the griffon. // by 30bars //------------------------------// Chapter one: The Crime Scene It was a sunny day in ponyville, the trees were starting to blossom and the crops were beginning to sprout in the early spring air. In fact, it was perfect weather for something bad to happen. Could this “bad thing” been a scooter crash or a filly dropping her ice-cream on the dirty ground? The answer is no. This “bad thing” is much, much worse. “So, what happened to the Griffon?” officer Johnson, a local police chief in ponyville, asked his partner, officer Dirk, as he looked down at the dead griffon corps. That’s right, a dead corpse. Lying in front of the two officers was a dead griffon. “His name was Greg, sir, he had no last name. He died about one hour ago. So that would make his time of death around seven thirty,” Officer Dirk read from his clipboard. “What’s a griffon doing in ponyville? I’ve never seen him around town.” “Um, actually, sir, he and his sister, Gilda, had apparently just moved to ponyville about twelve hours ago.” “So much for a welcoming party,” The two cops didn’t laugh at the joke officer Johnson just made. How could they? They both had never seen a griffon before, and now a dead one was sprawled before them in a local ponyville house. The house had been up for rent for a couple of years now, but still, Greg died in ponyville, which wasn’t going to look good for the Equestrian Kingdom. “Apparently Greg drank that poison right over there.” officer Dirk pointed to his left and there laying on the counter was a half filled bottle of green liquid. “By doing so he ended up killing himself, why he drank enough poison to kill at least seven griffons, sir.” “You sure Greg drank the poison?” “Positive, sir. We’ve taken samples of his blood and took it back to the lab to see if it had traces of poison. Unfortunately, Greg’s blood was full of the stuff.” Officer Dirk spoke quietly, trying to show respect for what had happened. “Well” officer Johnson sighed. Ending the day with a suicide case always made it hard for him to sleep at night. The whole idea of suicide and that ponies, or griffons, would take their own life away creped the officer out. “I’d say we’ve done all we could. Notify the Coroners office and Greg’s family immediately.” “Sir, yes, s-” officer dirk was interrupted by a new voice coming from behind him. “Perhaps I can be of assistance to solve this murder.” The two officers turned to see a bright grey, black haired, British accented stallion standing in the houses doorway. He wore a Deerstalker hat and a grey, plaid patterned coat. His cutie mark was a black silhouette of a mare that also seemed to be wearing a Deer stalker hat and had a pipe in his mouth. Behind the stranger was a younger looking stallion that was holding a silver brief case in his mouth. The younger stallion had tan fur and brown hair, his cutie mark was a single magnifying glass. The house was now filled with four earth ponies and one dead griffon. “Pardon me asking,” Officer Johnson said in a low, rude voice. “But who exactly are you?” Officer Johnson pointed a hoof at the new visitor. The grey stallion, wearing the idiotic looking hat, smiled lightly and calmly said “You’re right, sir, I suppose introductions are necessary if by any chance we decide to work on this case together. My name is Sherlock Hooves” Sherlock gestured toward himself “Detective in homicide cases. I’m Sorry that I just walked in here uninvited, but I was out for my regular walk and I just so happened to see the police tape around this house and I thought it would be most beneficial if you let us two” Sherlock pointed to himself and the tan stallion behind him, “help you two,” Sherlock pointed at the officers, “on this case.” “Two things Sherlock” Officer Johnson said Sherlock like it was some kind of insult. “You’re telling me that you saw the do-not-enter tape that we so laboriously put around the entire house and you thought” Officer Johnson imitated a British accent “Oh my! Police tape! It says do not enter on it, but I think I’ll fancy a peek inside!” “I was only-” Sherlock started to speak, but he was cut off by Officer Johnson, who started speaking normally again. “And another thing!” Officer Johnson held up a hoof to get Sherlock from completing his sentence. “Even if you are a detective in murder cases, I’m sorry to inform you, but Greg here committed suicide” he pointed his outstretched hand to Greg, who still was lying dead on the floor. “So you and your…mate-” “M’ names Watson!” the younger stallion, still holding a brief case in his mouth, finally said something since Sherlock’s arrival. “Whatever.” Officer Johnson did not care what his name was “You two are still out of luck. This griffon killed himself! No one killed him, end of story, case closed, you two need to get lost, I’m getting a doughnut.” Officer Johnson started to walk off. “Hold on.” It was Sherlock’s turn to speak. “You’re telling me that you think Greg drank the poison? Well I can deduce just by looking at this scene that Greg did not drink that poison.” Sherlock pointed to the half filled bottle of poison. “Actually,” Dirk spoke up “we’ve taken blood samples of Greg and found traces of poison in it so-” “Well of course Greg died because of the poison!” Sherlock interrupted loudly, “I’m saying he did not drink the poison.” The two officers looked at Sherlock with dumfounded expressions. “Believe me officer; I know it’s a lot to take in.” The officers were not taking in anything though. They were, in fact, thinking that this stranger was a mad pony and that if he said one more crazy thing they were going to have to arrest him. “But me and my sidekick have dealt with-” Watson set down his brief case down and spoke in a low voice to Sherlock “I told you to call me your partner.” Sherlock, who was still looking at Officer Johnson with a blank expression, returned “And I said that there’s nothing wrong with being called my side kick.” Sherlock spoke in a low voice too. “Yes there is!” Watson countered, “Side kicks don’t do anything! They’re the ones that ask stupid questions to make you sound like a genius! And let me tell you, I am not going to pretend that I have no clue what’s going on anymore. I want ponies to start recognizing me as a genius too. I deserve to be called your partner! Partners do loads of work and are as equal as the other partner!” Sherlock was still staring at officer Johnson’s beating eyes, tying to remain calm after his sidekick had just had a meltdown, “Who said you do anything?” “OK! That one crossed the line! You wouldn’t have solved half your cases if it wasn’t for me!” By this point the two officers did not know what followed. Both stallions started talking at the same time and they seemed to be referencing cases the two police ponies never even heard about. Sherlock finally stopped staring at Officer Johnson and looked at his “side kick,” angrily. Watson said some things like “You’re the smeller and I’m the one with the good eyes! If anything YOU should be called the side kick” and “OH, you can use logic! That’s something ANYPONY can use. Sherlock said some harsh words too. His words went along the lines of “You just had to ruin the scene didn’t you? It was going along so smoothly!” and “Why do you even keep talking?” The officers finally had enough of this nonsense. Officer Johnson, with as much force he could muster, stomped his front hoof on to the floor and screamed, “ENOUGH!” Sherlock and Watson went silent, but were still starring at each other with angry expressions. “Now are you going to tell me how you made up such a ridicules claim or are you going to continue bickering like a bunch of school fillies?” If there is something you should know about Officer Johnson it’s that he did not like being told he is wrong. Especially when he knew he was right and especially when the pony who was saying he was wrong, was a complete stranger. Sherlock returned his gaze back to officer Johnson and gave his signature light smile. He loved telling ponies they were wrong, especially ponies like Officer Johnson, “Because Officer,” Sherlock spoke slowly, “If Greg did drink the poison, which by the looks of how empty that poison bottle is, I’m going to estimate that he drank enough to kill at least seven griffons. Now Officer,” Sherlock tried to say Officer like it was an insult, “how could Greg drink that much poison and still have enough life in him to walk four meters away and die?” Officer Johnson’s expression changed from “angry” to “horribly shocked” as he realized that he overlooked the obvious. He wanted to say “That’s the most stupidest theory I’ve ever heard.” But somewhere deep in his mind he knew Sherlock was right. Even if Greg had a cup or something to hold poison then he would have died beside the container. Instead, Officer Johnson was silent, that is until Officer Dirk spoke up. “He’s right, sir,” Officer Dirk started saying slowly, “The scene doesn't add up. If Greg did drink the poison then he-” Officer Johnson interrupted, loudly, “I know he’s right!” He snapped at his partner. “Ok, Sherlock” Again, he said Sherlock like it was an insult. But to be fair, Officer Johnson did just get told up by some complete stranger. “If you’re so smart then how exactly did Greg die?” “Oh I don’t know,” Sherlock said with a chuckle in his British voice. “How am I supposed to know? I just got here! But you see, chap, that’s the thing we detectives do, we find out whodunit.” Sherlock spoke to the officer like he was a five year old filly.” “I know what detectives do!” Officer Johnson tried to protect his intelligence, “But do you have any ideas?” “Oh yes.” Sherlock still spoke in that uplifting voice, the same voice that a mother would use she was praising her filly. “I’ve got hundreds of ideas” Sherlock said proudly. Officer Johnson face-hooved and gave a long, annoyed sigh. “However,” Sherlock spoke in his normal British accent, “you did say that Greg’s blood had poison in it right?” “Sir, yes, sir,” Officer Dirk said. Officer Dirk didn’t mean to call Sherlock “sir” but he was so used to calling everyone with a higher rank then him “sir”. And, not to be mean, there were a lot of police pony’s that had a higher rank than Dirk, so the words just slipped out of his mouth involuntarily. “Well then, the most logical explanation I can think of,” Sherlock began, “would be that Greg’s murderer injected him with poison through a syringe needle.” “What?” Officer Johnson questioned. “There’s no way you can prove he died by that.” Officer Johnson was about to be tolled he was wrong, again. Sherlock lightly smiled, like he would usually do when he was going to do something important. “You know Officer” He spoke slowly, “You really underestimate me don’t you? Watson,” Sherlock turned to his partner, “Do you have your magnifying glass?” Watson smiled. It had been a while since he used eagle eye, which was the name he gave to his magnifying glass, on a case. “Does the sun set in the west?” Watson was expecting Sherlock to say yes. “Actually right now sun sets exactly nine point seven three degrees from the west. Well, really it depends what mood Celestia is in. Why did you start talking about suns, boy?” Sherlock did not get Watsons rhetorical question. Watson sighed. “Yeah, I got my magnifying glass.” Officer Dirk tried to cover up a small laugh. He could relate to Watson. Having to work for older stallions that never got any of the references you made can be a tedious job. Watson picked up the brief case that was still sitting on the ground since he argued with Sherlock. “Come on, Watson; let’s search the body for clues.” As Sherlock and Watson trotted their way toward the griffon corpse, Officer Johnson and Officer Dirk slowly backed away. Sherlock was now standing over Greg’s body. It looked so, so, peaceful, so noble, even for a dead thing. Sherlock didn’t understand why anyone would want to kill him. As far as Sherlock knew he posed no threat to anypony and he could have been the most friendly griffon in Equestria, no, the world. Greg looked to be about twenty years old in griffon years. Sherlock silently vowed that he would avenge Greg’s death. He was committed to solve this case no matter what. “You haven’t touched the body since he died, correct?” Sherlock wanted the police pony to confirm. “Yes.” Officer Dirk made sure he didn’t call Sherlock “sir.” “Ok, so the way Greg’s body is aligned, the injection would most probably be around here,” Sherlock hovered his hoof, making sure he didn’t touch the body, in a circular motion over Greg’s knee all the way to his hip. “That is, of course, if the murderer didn’t touch him” “Right,” Watson agreed. He opened the brief case with the sound of two clicks. Inside the brief case was a single magnifying glass a cocoon of foam. The magnifying glass had its own crevice cut into the foam so it would always be stable while the brief case was closed. There was nothing else in the brief case. Just a very clean magnifying glass with the words “Eagle Eye” inscripted on it. Watson took the magnifying glass in his mouth, making sure he had a good enough grip on it, but not too hard a grip to get bite marks on his favorite tool. Officer Dirk wondered if Watson carried that thing everywhere. It seemed that he did because “Eagle Eye” looked like the exact same magnifying glass on Watson’s flank. Watson felt a little uncomfortable being about one inch away from a dead griffon searching for any clue he could find with his “Eagle Eye”. Watson had done grosser things in the past though. He once had to floss dragon’s teeth to calm it down. Sherlock was holding one end of the floss and got to be on the outside of the dragon, while Watson had to stand inside of its mouth. Now that Watson thought about it he always had to do the dirty work in cases, literally. Watson was about to give up on the search and make Sherlock have a turn, that is until he found something. “MMPPPHHH!” he tried to say, “I found something, Sherlock, you should come take a look at it,” but the magnifying glass that was still in his mouth muffled his words. “What is it, boy?” Sherlock sounded exited. He knew that the way Watson said “MMPPPHHH!” only had to be a good thing. Watson could have started another argument with Sherlock for calling him “boy,” but he let it slide. He wanted Sherlock to see this. Sherlock leaned his head in closer to the magnifying glass and Watson pointed out the spot in Greg’s fur that had been injected. It was a tiny almost microscopic hole and it was covered by a little bit of fur, making it was almost impossible to see with a naked eye. Neither Sherlock nor Watson wanted to touch Greg’s dead body and get the fur out of the way to see the minor laceration, but they didn’t need too; Sherlock was certain that’s was where Greg was injected. “Great Scott!” Sherlock said loudly and with enthusiasm “What?” Officer Johnson asked. “Gentlecolts.” Sherlock spoke loudly to his one-stallion audience. Meanwhile, Watson backed his face away from the Greg’s body and gently set Eagle eye in its case. Emphasis on the gently part. “From my discovery-” “MY discovery” Watson corrected as he closed the brief case that held his only true friend. “My sidekick’s discovery,” Watson Grunted, “We have confirmed that the theory of Greg’s murder is true!” Officer Johnson was Flabbergasted. Ten minutes ago he thought that his day was going to end with a Suicide case, but now things have become completely different. He let his mouth hang open in silence for a little bit. “Dirk!” Sherlock called out. “Y-Yes…sir?” Dirk thought that Sherlock deserved to be called “sir” now. Sherlock had just opened up an entire case he was about to look over. “You said that Greg was only here in Ponyville for twelve hours?” “Y-” Before Officer Dirk could even say “Yes, sir” Sherlock started talking again. “That means that somepony must have had a feud to pick with Greg.” Sherlock paused, thinking of what to do next. “We need background information on this griffon; we need a close relative.” Then Sherlock’s brain clicked with an epiphany. “THAT’S RIGHT his sister is here!” The two officers realized that they had never talked about Greg’s sister around Sherlock. This made them wonder if Sherlock was eavesdropping on them when they were talking about Greg, using classified information. “Watson, bring Gilda back to my office for interrogation! Maybe she can tell us something about her brother.” “I don’t know where she is.” Watson said. Officer Dirk spoke up normally, without the “sir” he would usually say every other word. “The last time somepony reported seeing her was when she was flying over the Everfree forest, but that was a couple of hours ago. She’s probably not there anymore.” Officer Dirk concluded. “That’s alright! We might not need her!” Both Officer Johnson and Officer Dirk were used to Sherlock saying random, stupid ideas that would end up proving to have a lot more sense later, so they were not about to question this stupid idea. “Dirk, I want you to ask everypony in ponyville if they ‘ave ever talked to Greg from the time when he moved into our village till he died. If they ‘ave, tell them to meet me back at my office for questioning. It’s the third building down north of the town’s well. “I don’t think the murderer is just going to admit killing Greg in front of everypony, Sherlock.” Of course, Officer Johnson had to question this stupid idea of Sherlock’s. “I don’t expect him too.” Sherlock said seriously “But if we can find out exactly what Greg has done from his arrival to his death it will no doubt give us a profusely amount of clues.” Officer Johnson didn’t argue. “Now, Dirk, if you will” Sherlock nudged his head toward the door. Officer Dirk remembered what Sherlock had asked him to do. “Oh, yes, right away, sir” Officer Dirk galloped out of the house, but before got five feet through the front yard Dirk turned around and shouted so that the ponies in the house could hear, “Should I notify the Coroners office too, Sherlock…s-sir” The “sir” was a lot more quieter than the rest of the sentence, but was still audible to all the ponies inside the house. “That’s it, Justine” Officer Dirk thought to himself. Officer Dirk’s full name was Justice Dirk, but all of his friends gave him the nickname of Justine. Everyone that he worked with called him “Officer Dirk” or “new guy.” You can probably guess why he would be called the second one. “From now on you are only going to call Johnson sir.” “Yes, I’m sure that would be nice if someone can take the body away.” Sherlock answered. “Yes, sir!” “DANG IT!” Officer Dirk galloped as fast as he could away from the house feeling like he just made an ass of himself. Ass meaning donkey, of course, not the other term. I mean, no offence to the ass kingdom or anything, but asses usually are an awkward group of quadrupeds. “He’s only supposed to take orders from me” Officer Johnson spoke quietly realizing what his partner just did. He’s decided he was going to make Dirk do something for listening to Sherlock. He didn’t know what yet, but it was going to make Dirk miserable. “Well it’s a good thing the boys got his morals strait. Don’t want his listening to some old berk now do we?” Officer Johnson didn’t know what “berk” meant. It was probably some British insult that only Sherlock and Watson would know. He had suspicions the word was an insult because Watson slightly snorted and Sherlock lightly smiled. This made Officer Johnson dislike Sherlock even more. “But while the lad is doing that,” Sherlock continued, “let’s look for some more clues in Greg’s house” “I’m thinking we should start by observing the bottle of poison” Watson considered. “My thoughts exactly” The two detectives and one officer started walking toward the counter where the poison stood. It was amazing that something so tiny could cause something so devastating. “If we can find out who owns the murder weapon we can find out who the murderer is.” As the trio stared at the bottle for a good five seconds Watson spoke up. “It doesn’t have a lid,” he noted. “Excellent observation, Watson, but I’m more intrigued by the writing down there.” Sherlock pointed at the base of the bottle. Watson leaned in closer. Sherlock wasn’t wearing his monocle, so Watson knew Sherlock wouldn’t be able to read the tiny writing inscripted on the bottle. As Watson got a closer look he realized that the “writing” was only three letters long. No, it was one number and two letters long. “It says 5, M, L. It’s in really fancy hoof-writing too.” Sherlock was really hoping for something better. Like a name or and address or for some better clue at least. “It’s acronym for something isn’t it? Well, that leaves me with about a million options!” “Really?" Officer Johnson didn't believe Sherlock's claim. "What sort of acronym starts with a five?” Officer Johnson asked. “FIVE my life!” Sherlock suggested, “It’s really close to F my life but instead the F-word it’s replaced by a five.” Sherlock sounded like he knew what he was talking about. “That makes no sense.” This time Officer Johnson was sure Sherlock was speaking nonsense” “Five Moose Lake?” Sherlock said. “What the heck is a moose?” “Five mice lunge?” “Now, how do mice Lunge? And what does that have to do with anything?” “Five my lungs?” “That’s not even a sentence!” As Sherlock continued to say sentences or by now, it was more like random words that made no sense, Watson decided to look for something else. He thought the next best place to look for something would be in the closet. “Five moopy loopy?” “Not only is that not sentence, moopy isn’t even a word!” Watson opened the closet doors. To the average untrained eye, they would have seen an empty closet with an empty hanging rack without a single hanger hanged on it. To Watson, however, he saw clues. On the right wall there was a tiny smudge of white, what was that, goop. As Watson looked at it he could tell, even without eagle eye, that it was frosting. Frosting? Was Greg keeping a cake in his closet? No, that’s just too strange. Maybe the frosting was there when Greg moved in. But the house had been empty for a year if the frosting had been there for that long it would of hardened. Watson touched the frosting. It was soft. It had to of been put there today! “SHERLOCK!” Watson yelled. “Fred makes sweet lemonade?” “Just admit it! You, the all knowledgeable stallion, has no clue what this means!” “SHERLOCK!!” Watson yelled again. “WHAT?” Sherlock replied with the same volume that Watson spoke. “Looky here!” Officer Johnson was closer to the closet so he made it before Sherlock did. “What is it? All I see is an empty closet.” As Sherlock walked in he smelled the air loud enough for the other two stallions to hear. “I smell dragon scales” “You do?” Watson asked. “Well, look what I found.” Watson pointed to the wall, but Sherlock didn’t acknowledge what his side kick said. “And” Sherlock sniffed again. Was that what he thought it was? The last time he smelt anything like that was ten years ago. “It can’t be,” he said softly. “What?” Officer Johnson had no idea what was going on. “Laughing powder.” Laughing powder is a type of flower that, if eaten, will cause its consumer to uncontrollably laugh. And although the side effect is hilarious, the laughing powder is very dangerous. “Dangerous” is actually a huge understatement. The eater of the laughing powder could actually laugh themselves to death of they don’t medical attention within fifteen minutes. Yep, Fifteen minutes was all it took to kill you. That’s why Celestia destroyed all of them in Equestria. “I thought Celastia destroyed all of the laughing powder in Equestria” Watson said. “Perhaps the griffon kingdom spared some.” “Wait, wait, wait and wait!” Officer Johnson sounded confused “I don’t smell anything!” Sherlock and Watson looked each other and they both lightly smiled. Watson began “My friend, I say, has the nose of a great hound” Then Sherlock said “and my friend, I say, has the eyes of an eagle” What they said sounded rehearsed. They have obviously had to say that a lot of times. “Now, Officer, you may not smell the things I smell, but you’ll have to trust me; this closet had dragon scales and laughing powder in it.” “And frosting!” Watson pointed his hoof at the wall. “Frosting? You found frosting? What was Greg doing in this closet?” It took some thinking on Officer Johnson’s part. Johnson did believe someponies could be extremely observant, but good at smelling? He never heard of that one before. On one hoof Sherlock hasn’t been wrong this far, except for the acronym part, but on the other hoof how could you smell something ten years ago when it wasn’t destroyed and still remember it much later? But something tugged in his brain, if he was going to solve this case and stop a murderer he was going to have to believe in Sherlock. And as much as he disliked the stallion, he said “I believe you Sherlock.” Officer Johnson looked down on the floor. Right next to has left hoof was, what seemed to be, a leaf. It couldn’t have been at least half a centimeter big. It was dark brown almost black. “What’s this?” Officer Johnson pointed at the leaf. “What’s what?” Watson looked down where the police pony was pointing. The leaf was tiny, but not small enough for him to get out eagle eye. Now that he thought about it he remembered that he left eagle eye over where Greg’s body lay. “If I remember my botany class correctly, then I believe that’s a leaf that belongs to the West-Bolio pine tree. Bolio is a town in the griffon kingdom.” Watson informed. “The leaf is harmless actually, very bitter taste though.” “Great Find, Johnson!” Sherlock said like a mom to its filly, “Now the mystery is why Greg used such miscellaneous items.” “Who says that’s all he used?” Watson inquired “Perhaps Greg had some material, something odorless that you couldn’t smell or something so tiny I can't see.” There was a long silence. Sherlock was thinking “Now what do these materials have in common?” Watson was thinking “Why did Greg keep such materials?” Officer Johnson, however, was not thinking deeply on the subject; instead he just said the most logical thing that came to his head, which sometimes isn't a bad thing. Sherlock and Watson were over thinking the scene and they were forgetting on major fact. “Well, whatever was in here,” Officer Johnson broke the silence “It’s gone now.” Sherlock and Watson both realized what had just been said. “You’re right.” Sherlock pointed out. “Do you thing the murderer stole what was in here?” “Possibly” Officer Johnson said. He never felt so smart stating the obvious. “Greg must have found it important enough to hide it in the closet, that’s for sure.” “Great!” Sherlock was exited. “Now, we have a motive! The murderer wanted whatever Greg was hiding.” “Why would anypony want Icing, Laughing powder, dragon scales and useless pine leaves?” Officer Johnson asked. "I don’t know” Sherlock said, still very excited. “How would I know? But you see, chap, that’s the thing we detectives do! We find out-” “You already said that!” Officer Johnson snapped at Sherlock. He was pretty sure Sherlock thought of him as an idiot. “Did I? Oh sorry, chap, I’m just too excited!” Sherlock gasped as if he had a sudden realization, “I know! We’ll see what the items have to do with each other back at my office. While we are there we can interrogate all the ponies Dirk has rounded up. By George, if we can do this quick enough I can beat my fastest case solving record!” Sherlock once read somewhere that a detective in Manehattan solved a case in only two hours and fifty-two minutes. Although Sherlock has solved more cases than anypony, his fastest time was three hours and ten minutes. “If I can pull this off not only will I bring justice to the world, but also I’ll show everypony how talented I am,” Sherlock thought. “Solving cases isn’t about how fast you can solve them, Sherlock. You know that right?” “Of course,” Sherlock suddenly felt bad for feeling the need to compete. “Gentlecotes, to my office!” *********************************** The trio of crime fighters walked in silence for a good ten minutes. Watson has glad he was holding eagle eye’s brief case. That way he had an excuse to be silent this whole time. The silence was finally broken when Officer Johnson informed the others saying, “I’m going to go back to the police station and find any more background information on Greg.” The three earth ponies were now standing next to the towns well. “Sounds great, chap. If you find anything about the victim you can tell us at my office. The police station isn’t too far away from here is it?” “No.” Officer Johnson said calmly after giving it a little though, but not too much thought. “It’s on the north perimeter of Ponyville.” Officer Johnson pointed in the direction of Sherlock’s office, which was also north as well.” “Well I hope I get to continue working on more cases with you.” Sherlock hugged Officer Johnson. Officer Johnson’s instinct almost kicked in and he was about to punch Sherlock in the face. You can’t blame him though, after ten years in the force if somepony comes after you with outstretched hands they usually want to hurt you. Thankfully, Officer Johnson didn’t punch Sherlock. Although, Officer Johnson thought about it, if Sherlock had hugged him in front of any of the officers, he would have defiantly punched Sherlock sorry British face. “Yeah, I really hope we can work on more cases together too,” Officer Johnson lied. If he had to work with Sherlock he would have ended up killing himself. No he wouldn’t, he decided, because if he did then it would be Sherlock solving his suicide case. Instead of killing himself, he would run away. No he couldn’t do that either, Sherlock would have been bound to find him eventually. He silently hoped he would never have to work with Sherlock ever again. “Ok then I’ll see you around.” “Ok. Make sure you get me whenever you need help solving one of your cases” Sherlock said. “Ok.” Officer Johnson lied, again. He was never going to let Sherlock in on one of his cases, let alone any more interaction with him. “Goodbye, Sherlock.” “Goodbye, Officer,” Sherlock waved. Then the three stallions started walking in the same direction. Then Sherlock remembered both he and Officer Johnson still had to walk north. “Well,” Sherlock wasn’t looking at Officer Johnson or Watson in the eye; instead he was talking to the air in front of him. “This is awkward.” *********************************** Sherlock walked into his office to see Alexandra Bell, his receptionist, typing something on a typewriter. He also saw Officer Dirk, who smiled when he saw Sherlock and Watson enter the building. “Hello Alexandra,” Sherlock spoke smoothly while trotting his way to his receptionist’s desk, “are you still free for dinner tomorrow?” Sherlock flirted with her. Without looking up from the type writer, Alexandra answered, “No, I’m still happily married and have one son.” “Can you please stop flirting with my mom, Sherlock?” Watson asked. Yep, Alexandra was Watson’s mom. And ever since she’s gotten a job here Sherlock continued to hit on her every chance he’s gotten. “I think my dad is going to get a restraining order for her if you don’t stop!” “Aren’t those machines wonderful?” Sherlock ignored Watson’s threat. “Typewriters, I mean. They can write down the exact words I feel for you” Sherlock was leaning on the receptionist’s desk while Alexandra still did not look up from her typing. “SHERLOCK!” Watson was frustrated at his partner’s futile attempts to hook up with his mom. “Fine, I’ll stop, are you happy? Sheesh kids these days” Sherlock still spoke in his “sexy” voice. “That’s my son, you know?” Mrs. Bell still did not look up. “ I know, and can I note how handsome his manecut looks? Did you cut it or did someone else make that lump of coal look like a diamond?” Mrs. Bell didn’t know if she should feel complimented or insulted. This was getting nowhere. Watson spoke up, “Mom, we need books about Laughing powder, dragon scales and West-Bolio pine tree leaves” Watson decided to leave out a book about frosting. What else is there to know about Icing? “Ok sweetie,” Alexandra stopped typing and looked up at her only son. “Did you like your lunch?” “It was nice,” Watson said, felling a little embarrassed. “Did you see how I placed your baby carrots in the shape of a heart on your salad, sweetie?” While Mrs. Bell was saying this she made the shape of a heart with her forelegs. Sherlock was surprised how quickly this woman’s attitude could change from shrew to nurturing mother in a matter of seconds. “Yes, I did see the carrots, mum, they were lovely.” Mrs. Bell slightly applauded and lightly giggled. Watson felt even more embarrassed now because of what his mom just did. He decided to cut to the chase, “Do you have the books or not?” “Ok, sweetie, let me check in the back entrepot.” Entrepot seemed like a strange word to use. Especially since the storage they had was filled with miscellaneous books and objects. Mrs. Bell got up from her desk and went through the door behind her, leaving in the room Sherlock, Watson and Officer Dirk who remained quiet this entire time. “Officer Dirk, how was the search to find everypony who has talked to Greg?” Sherlock asked. “It went great, sir.” Officer Dirk decided it was ok to call Sherlock “sir” because his partner, Officer Johnson, was not around. “I stood up on top of the village’s fountain to get everyponies attention.” “Ok.” Sherlock was wondering why Officer Dirk told him this. “Did anypony say they talked to Greg?” “Yes, but let me complete my story. I was up standing on the fountain and everpony started staring at me. I’m not good at public speaking you see, so I was just standing on top the fountain, not saying a word and I was extremely nervous. But THEN I thought: what would Officer Johnson say if he was standing next to me.” “Go on.” Sherlock sounded irked, but Officer Dirk didn’t pick up the fact that he didn’t care for any back story. “He would say” Officer Dirk tried to imitate his partner’s voice. “Stop being such a filly!” Sherlock was getting annoyed. “And so,” Officer Dirk continued, “I didn’t want to be thought of as a baby when I told that I was too shy to ask anypony if they’ve ever talked to Greg so I screamed out: HAS ANYPONIE HERE EVER TALKED TO GREG!?” Sherlock covered his ears for the last part of Dirk’s story because he screamed that as loud as he could. “Sorry,” Dirk apologized, realizing he just startled everypony with his outburst. “I’ve never spoken to that many ponies before! My adrenalin is still kicking from it!” Dirk sounded as if he had just accomplished something life changing. “Did anypony say they ‘ave talked to Greg?” Sherlock was about to rip of Dirks head if he didn’t start saying names. “Yes! One of them did! And she also said she knew five other ponies that talked to him!” “Great!” Sherlock finally got the information he only cared for. “Where are they?” “In the back! I think Alex put them in Interrogation room C” Officer Dirk answered; pointing to only door in the room that wasn’t an exit. “Excellent, we can begin questioning right away then. Do you perhaps have any of the pony’s names?” Sherlock asked, now it was his turn to be excited. “Yes, they’re all mares actually.” Officer Dirk pulled out a notebook from one of his uniform pockets. “Their names are,” Dirk began to read, “Rainbow Dash, Applejack, Twilight Sparkle, Fluttershy, Rarity and Pinkie Pie.”