Sherclop Pones and the Adventure of Pinkie's Cupcakes

by A Sherlockian Brony

Chapter 13: The Aftermath

Notwithstanding the foregoing account, I feel compelled to furnish a succinct summary of the subsequent occurrences, to afford my readers a coherent understanding of the events that ensued.

It is a matter of public record that Twilight Sparkle, the illustrious and most distinguished member of the Mane Six, exhibited remarkable acumen in discerning the true identity of her brother's betrothed. The bride, ostensibly the epitome of regal grace, was unmasked as none other than a Changeling, and not merely a common infiltrator, but their sovereign, Queen Chrysalis. It was through Ms. Sparkle's intrepid efforts that the genuine Princess of Love was extricated from the bowels of Canterlot's caverns, thus thwarting the Changeling's malevolent designs and dispelling their presence with a potent confluence of magic.

The aftermath of this ordeal was, by all appearances, a return to tranquility: the castle's scars were swiftly mended by enchantments, casualties were mercifully few, and the populace eagerly anticipated the genuine nuptials. Yet, what I am about to disclose is of a nature so delicate that Myclop Pones himself implored secrecy, lest we find ourselves ensnared in a maelstrom of scandal. Nevertheless, I have resolved to commit these extraordinary events to paper, abiding by a solemn vow to the Caballus Club to publish this chronicle only when the prospect of ignominy has waned to naught.

Upon the Changelings' expulsion, we ventured into the castle, which, to our astonishment, bore no vestige of the recent siege. The inhabitants were only just beginning to recover their wits. Our inquiries led us to a groomsman, who recounted the harrowing tale of deception and usurpation that had unfolded.

In the midst of our investigation, we were accosted by a stallion clad in somber attire, who, upon confirming our identities, entrusted Pones with a missive directing him to Buck Mall. With a countenance braced for adversity, Pones acquiesced. I endeavored to accompany him, but was sternly dissuaded, the matter being declared strictly confidential. Pones offered a hasty apology before departing, leaving me adrift in the vastness of Canterlot Castle.

A myriad of questions besieged my mind. How could a mere disappearance burgeon into an attempted coup? What fate had befallen the actors in this drama? The whereabouts of the genuine Pinkie Pie, whom I suspected of foul play, remained a mystery. Was she concealed in some obscure refuge? And what of Derpy Hooves? Most perplexing of all, where was Rainbow Dash?

Pones' sorrowful demeanor suggested a grievous error on his part. But who, or what, was 'the Professor'? This enigmatic figure, implicated by a Changeling during our confrontation beneath Sugarcube Corner, seemed to wield an influence most sinister. Could he be the architect of this calamity, a puppeteer commanding the Changelings to his will? His motives remained inscrutable, his identity shrouded in darkness. Was he akin to the ancient malefactors of Equestrian lore, or something far more nefarious?

Overwhelmed by these conundrums, I resolved to pursue clarity independently. My initial endeavor was to verify the groomsman's account, thereafter retracing the sequence of events to unearth the elusive nexus binding these disparate threads.

Upon reaching the grandeur of Canterlot Abbey, I scoured the edifice for corroborative evidence. The remnants of conflict were evident: banners lay in disarray, scorch marks marred the stone. A Royal Guard confirmed our earlier findings, prompting me to wander the hallowed halls in contemplation. Theory after theory cascaded through my thoughts, each more outlandish than the last, until I abandoned the pursuit in exasperation.

It was then, as I cast my gaze heavenward, that I beheld a Pegasus mare aloft, her coat a cerulean hue, her mane a kaleidoscope of vibrant shades. She was diligently restoring a banner to its rightful place. Recognition dawned upon me with startling clarity—it was none other than the celebrated athlete, the very subject of our inquiry: Rainbow Dash.

I was utterly dumbfounded, my gaze affixed to her with an intensity borne of sheer incredulity. A multitude of inquiries clamored for release within my mind, yet I found myself rooted to the spot, incapable of articulating them. It was an impossibility, I reasoned. Yet, she seemed oblivious to my internal turmoil, her attention drawn away by a call. The voice that reached my ears was tinged with a familiarity that I had, of late, come to associate with the most macabre of events—murder and the most innocent of confections, cupcakes. It was unmistakably the voice of Pinkie Pie.

My eyes followed the sound to its source, where I beheld the pink equine, her hoof raised in a spirited greeting to Ms. Dash, beckoning her with a vivacious wave. Ms. Dash complied with alacrity, soaring past me to land gracefully at Pinkie Pie's side. Together, they proceeded, Pinkie Pie adopting her signature gait—a playful bounce accompanying each step. I stood, speechless, my faculties of speech seemingly deserting me. How could they comport themselves with such normalcy, as if the shadow of a heinous suspicion had not been cast over Ponyville?

To my further astonishment, the pair were not alone. Indeed, the entirety of the Mane Six had assembled. There was Twilight Sparkle, the very pillar upon which the Monarchy's continued sovereignty rested, with her youthful dragon companion, Spike, attired as a ring-bearer. Present, too, were the diligent Applejack, the compassionate Fluttershy, and the magnanimous Rarity. And now, joining their number were the aforementioned Ms. Pie and Ms. Dash. The focus of their collective attention seemed to be Ms. Sparkle, to whom they posed queries of the sort:

"How did you know she was the imposter?" and the like.

As they exchanged pleasantries and jests, I remained transfixed, my mouth agape, scarcely able to credit the scene unfolding before me. Perhaps my stare lingered overly long, for Pinkie Pie, perceiving my fixed gaze, addressed me.

"Hey," she inquired, her tone light, a chuckle escaping her lips. "have you been standing there the entire time?"

Her words captured Ms. Dash's notice, and she turned toward me, her countenance registering surprise. The sight of a one-winged Pegasus, such as myself, gaping in bewilderment, might well have given her pause.

"Hey," she began, advancing with a note of concern and a raised hoof; “you okay there, bud?"

I endeavored to respond, but my voice faltered, yielding only a stammer as I gestured with a trembling hoof, uttering disjointed phrases like "you" and "absent."

Ms. Dash cocked her head, her expression one of gentle encouragement, as if willing me to clarity.

"Um, what?" she prompted.

Yet, my attempts at communication bore no fruit, my words dissolving into further incoherence. As my struggle persisted and Ms. Dash's comprehension remained elusive, Pinkie Pie approached, her curiosity piqued. She glanced between us, bemused.

“What’s with all the stammering?” she queried.

I faced her, my bewilderment deepening. After several faltering attempts, I managed to voice a coherent question.

"You—" I began, turning to the athletic mare as she regarded me with an expectant look. "—you are meant to be—" A pause seized me. "—missing!"

A frown creased Ms. Dash's brow, while Pinkie Pie, though her smile persisted, mirrored her friend's confusion.

"Missing?" Ms. Dash echoed, leaning in. "Why should I be missing?"

A vision of a verdant circular carpet flashed through my mind.

“You’ve been murdered!”

At this, Ms. Dash recoiled, her features registering shock. She retreated several paces, her gaze upon me now filled with bewilderment.

It was a tableau of such absurdity that Pinkie Pie, perhaps convinced of some jest, laughed heartily.

"Ha, good one!" she exclaimed, dabbing at her eyes. Yet, as she observed my grave demeanor, her mirth abated somewhat.

She then addressed me, her smile unwavering, though tinged with a hope that I was not in earnest.“Who did it, then?" she inquired, indulging the "joke."

I surveyed her solemnly, my eyes traversing her form as if to confirm her corporeal presence.

"You," I declared, pointing an unsteady hoof in her direction.

Pinkie Pie's reaction was one of startled silence, her expression frozen as she grappled with a response.

She and Ms. Dash exchanged glances, their faces etched with uncertainty, as if questioning my sanity.

“Say what now?”

Comments

[Slamp5000XL-3-0]

Bueno ahora estoy perdido, Rainbow Dash y Pinkie Pie están bien, ¿Entonces que paso en ese lapso de tiempo en Ponyville?