S H E R L O C K
H O L M E S
~ The Ticking of the Hearts ~
Inasmuch as it would appear everything were in desirable condition to the commoner, an ulterior and rather grimacing chain of events had occurred, resulting in quite a tragic statistic. Further than what any would presume, it would perhaps become nothing more than a piece of trivia in the future. As far as their capability now, however, it was considerably heinous. A classic Cain and Abel scenario—almost. Give or take a few centuries, it was the first murder to have taken place in this equine-inhabited land, including war fatality of the past. Though, it was likewise the first ever to be committed outside of war.
Far and wide, the victimized family searched for a detective capable of deducing such a mystery, the death of a close family member, a certain Shining Armor, in fact. In charge of the royal guard and relative to the Princess of Friendship. How one could have murdered him, it seemed unfathomable. Unfathomable, of course, to the many great detectives sought out, who proved of no use. In despair, they sought out a stallion who exemplified quite a disparity to the other detectives, one who seemed to appear out of nowhere, one who had fought with monsters by only his deductive ability, one who had shown intelligence greater than the greatest, one who had attracted several women, one who was inherently bound to face Moriarty after death. . .
. . .No, this isn't right, that's not possi—
"HOLMES."
Sherlock let out a sudden gasp as he opened his eyes, clasping his hands around the chair he had blended into so well as he thought Watson had left the room. He looked up with a blink, his frown seeming to become more evident as he quickly rubbed his eyes, dragging his thumb and fingers over his lips to clear away any unsightly appearances from his nap. As his vision adjusted, he saw Watson, his colleague, standing with quite the look of frustration on his face.
"Oh my dear John, certainly you don't miss him that muc—" a woman spoke before stepping in, her look seeming to be the result of a paralyzed face with quite a remarkable tone of white.
"Yes, perhaps I am not at my most presentable," Sherlock grumbled as he looked down at the camouflage attire, "you'll have to pardon me as I did just wake up, and from the strangest dream. . ."
"H-holmes I don't care about the dream!" Watson said in disbelief, "how did you—"
"—One would think that impulses were entirely unnecessary, when, indeed, a complete deduction against one who wishes to completely deduct would be an inherently mistaken course of action," Sherlock answered, "in order to outwit the madman, Professor Moriarty, I had to capture him off of his guard and surprise him with a course of action that could not be so easily deduced. Of course, I presumed many scenarios would have occurred, the most likely of which would have involved Reichenbach, a placement and circumstance which would have not been survivable in the slightest had I not brought with myself an assisting tool by which I could attain the proper amount of oxygen to continue healthy respiration. Of course, Moriarty could have taken me to a number of places as I said, but the most suitable would have been that particular area of the structure, where we could have finished the game."
"The game?" Watson said, staring in utter confusion at the explanation that rolled off of Holmes' tongue as if he had practiced it. Knowing him, he probably practiced it well over a few times in his head.
"Yes, the game. An inherent checkmate, just like chess, and I thought just one step ahead. Perhaps luck or wit, either way, you must be so happy to have me back for the last fifteen minutes of our seeing each other, now I do wish the two of you luck as you leave, I must get back to work."
Holmes stepped up, smiling and walking towards his office, before slamming the door shut. Watson and his newly-wedded wife simply exchanged a look of disbelief.
The circumstances were perfect. Everything was set in motion, like an advanced Rube Goldberg machine, several hundreds of circumstances all in a divine union, coming together at the right moment. Sherlock had sat at his desk, sighing lightly as he continued to draw connections. On his way back from Reichenbach falls, he had encountered a mysterious anomaly. It was most probably the strangest thing he had ever seen. A yellow glow, and some silhouette walking into it as it faded away. Upon further investigation, he found a watch that was seemingly dropped.
This watch was peculiar in structure, as it's contents so far as Sherlock was comfortable with disassembling were not actually within the current periodic table of elements. The watch was constructed of pure, twenty-four karat gold—that much he knew—and it seemed to be made of an elastic material inside. Elastic, but metallic.
"How peculiar," Holmes thought aloud, "of all the strange chemical reactions and elements I have witnessed, this is by far the most unorthodox."
It bound to the wearer with ease, and was extremely comfortable at that. The design on the clock face showed a large pink heart outline on the right side, with three smaller pink hearts on the left side, all at intervals symmetric over the horizontal diametre. The face was constructed of a magenta-colored material, and the watch hands of something purer than gold. It was otherworldly, and Sherlock was sure that he had perhaps found evidence of alien interference, something he knew not to reveal had that been truly possible.
As he was pondering, the door opened slightly. Holmes looked up to see Watson peaking in.
"Holmes, do you have a moment?" he said almost nervously as he still lacked the comprehension of the fact that his once dead friend had suddenly returned to the living with something as little as an oxygen tank.
Holmes looked at his wrist, as if a watch were on it.
"As it turns out I do, one single moment and oh!" Holmes looked up with a smile and a shrug towards Watson, "It seems to have run out, my dearest apologies, if you would like to reschedule for next week I shall see how many moments there are to spare, and, as a note of happenstance, I do not take out-of-country cases."
"Holmes, surely you can't just come back from the dead and expect me to leave without at least hearing more than a rehearsed explanation!" Watson begged, knowing Holmes must have been still upset over the ordeal of his leaving with the wife.
"Well, perhaps I can spare a moment of explanation as to what I found on my way back," Holmes said. Watson shook his head.
"Holmes, you're alive!" Watson exclaimed, holding his hands to his temples before extending them outwards toward his colleague.
"Yes." Holmes said, with a blink and a blank stare, shifting his eyes back and forth as if confused, "I would like to hope so."
"No, agh," Watson sighed, shaking his head and walking up to the desk, "Everyone thought you had died! I. . .we. . ."
"Well, I'm not," Holmes affirmed with a smile, "since that is settled within the obvious, take a look at this."
Knowing he wasn't going to get what he wanted—and at this rate Watson wasn't particularly sure what that was—he sighed, walking around the desk and looking at the strange instrument.
"Take note of the composition, take note of the seemingly extraterrestrial elements," Sherlock said, pointing respectively. "After a while of drawing connections, I concluded that the silhouette which I had seen, one that dropped this, had been linked to a recent theft of a rare and precious material from a nearby bank. It was a material that had been kept a secret from the public, but as you know that was little more than an interesting puzzle for me. The watch appears to be broken, but I have the slightest thought that it might be more than just a watch to tell time. If I can get this clockwork to. . .agh!"
He pushed a gear in with an instrument, and as he did, a loud sound came from the watch as both he and Watson leaned back in awe.
CR-R-RACK
An air-shattering crackle of thunder following a bright flash, causing Sherlock and his colleague to jump as the low rumbling followed after. Rain began to pour down suddenly, and Sherlock was sure the forecast was going to be clear today.
"Perhaps I was wrong about the weather again. . ." he mumbled, "perhaps meteorologists in the future will be more reliable than me." He got up to take a look outside to see, as he had suspected, dark clouds and an unexpected downpour of rain. He sighed, taking a seat again and closing his eyes.
"Were the skies not going to be clear today?" Watson asked, "I could have sworn that was the forecast."
"Now might be a good time to begin thinking about an intricate weather warning system using electromagnetic frequencies," Sherlock said, opening his eyes as he gazed upon the watch. He rubbed his eyes for a moment before hearing a quiet tick. Taking the watch, he looked in disbelief as it had suddenly began to work—at least momentarily. The hands stopped when they all pointed in one direction.
"That's rather curious," Sherlock stared for a moment, leaning the watch towards Watson. It had worked only after the unexpected lightning.
"Indeed, it seems to have gone to a single point and stopped," Watson mused.
Sherlock turned to pace around the room, stopping when he heard the sounds of grinding, tiny clockwork once more.
The hands had changed direction.
With a baffled and genuinely confused expression, Sherlock turned, keeping an eye on the watch, which was turning counterclockwise and clockwise to remain pointed in one direction. He put the watch down, gently massaging his temples as he tried to deduce why this could be happening. With absolutely no evidence towards any claim, he put on some neat attire and took the watch once more.
"What do you see?" Watson asked, as Sherlock was now on the opposite side of the room.
"It seems to be pointing in a specific direction," Sherlock said with a quirked brow, before pointing, "That way."
"How strange!" Watson exclaimed, "It's like a compass, but I'm sure that's not North. How could a watch do such a thing?"
"I surely hope I didn't miss something in my eschatological studies. . ." he murmured to himself, beginning to walk out.
"Watson, where are you going?" Mary, Watson's wife, asked, grabbing his arm as he seemed in a hurry to follow Holmes, "We were just about to leave! We can't miss our trip!"
"I assure you, we'll only be gone momentarily," Watson said, taking her hand and kissing her cheek, "Holmes asked me to. . .accompany him to look at something before I left. It won't take very long."
"Be careful!" Mary called out as Watson was running to catch up to Sherlock. Mary sighed, shaking her head as she watched the two before murmuring to herself, "Holmes, you're so desperate to take him away from me that you'll even come back from the dead!"
"You're a fantastic liar, Watson," Holmes said, keeping focus on the watch as his colleague caught up. Watson let out a disapproving grunt.
"I wasn't lying, I was just. . .making a guess," he replied. Sherlock chuckled, continuing for quite a while until they had finally reached a rather desolate area with a large decrepit statue with a marble base that was at least two meters tall.
"This is it," Sherlock said, taking a look at the statue, "something about this place is drawing the watch hands toward it."
"Right. . ." Watson thought, taking a look at it before placing his hand on it. He jumped back, drawing Holmes' attention.
"Is it cold?" he asked, slightly confused. Watson's expression was almost fearful.
"My hand, it went through the marble!" he exclaimed. Sherlock looked at the watch, before stepping up to the statue and pressing his hand against the marble. Sure enough, it fell through, and Holmes pulled it back again.
"How peculiar!" Sherlock mused, "What ever shall we do, my dear Watson?"
"We should turn back," Watson said, keeping a sternly cautious tone, "and leave it be. This is far out of my, let alone your parameters of—Holmes!"
Before Watson could finish, Holmes had stepped completely inside, vanishing. Watson placed his hands on his head, pulling his hair a bit as he pondered what to do. After a moment of pacing back and forth, and Holmes not coming out, Watson loudly groaned.
"Damnit Holmes!" He shouted, walking in with him.
Canterlot was a rather beautiful city, but it's beauty was only as deep as it's architecture, as, with the loss of the leader of the Royal Guard, it's population shared a grief for the loss of both a citizen and a pillar of their protection. More than any, an alicorn by the name of Twilight Sparkle had mourned this loss, for it was her dear brother.
Beside her sat Princess Mi Amore Cadenza, the wife of the deceased stallion, who was holding up only slightly better than Twilight. The only thing keeping Mi, otherwise known as Cadence, stable, was the need to support her longtime friend, who was completely at loss.
"I don't know what to do Cadence!" Twilight exclaimed, "This has never happened in Equestria, not in hundreds of years, and why my brother?!"
"Calm down Twilight," Cadence said softly, "Celestia has ordered the Royal Guard to find the culprit at all costs, and the detectives—"
"Are doing nothing!" Twilight interrupted with tear-glazed cheeks, Cadence fell silent, allowing the other Princess to vent, "They've found nothing, and the Guards have found nothing, and I'm stuck with a dead sibling with evidently no reason for passing except someones cruel, cold heart!"
Twilight fell into Cadence's embrace, sobbing as Cadence provided as much physical comfort as she could.
"Have faith Twilight," Cadence reassured, "this may be the worst of your trials to come, but you will surely make it through."
Around that time, in another portion of the quarters, Princess Celestia, the leader of the nation, is alerted by a knocking at the door of her Royal Quarters.
"Come in," she said softly. The doors opened to reveal a messenger, who trotted up, bowing quickly.
"Princess, I have urgent news!" he said. Celestia raised her brow attentively, "Two more equines have appeared where we tracked the last mirror portal!"
"Have them brought to me immediately!" Celestia said, the guard raising up and nodding as he trotted out. The doors shut with a loud thundering. Celestia sighed, closing her eyes and lowering her head. "Perhaps the earth has answered my prayer after all. . ."