Sherlock was quite excited about the developing situation. Never before had his mind been so pressured to solve a case, and in such unforeseen circumstances! Hardly anything was familiar in this new world, yet there was just enough to build upon. It was as if he was starting over, but with all of the knowledge of his past in a much more complex world. As they traversed the corridors to other parts of the castle, Holmes busied himself ponderously among the presence of magic. What was the extent of it? How much was there to learn about this world? How was the culprit capable of subverting such powerful abilities?
This led him into further questions, such as how many alternate worlds there really were—and how many were as bizarre as this one. Watson, however, was more focused on admiring the alien geometries constructed with such awe-inducing eloquence that it was beyond his comprehension as to how such things could even be made.
Within moments, however, they had reached a room filled with other well-dressed equines who seemed dead silent, some even on the brink of sleeping until the loud sound of creaking castle doors awoke them from their lackadaisical slumber.
"These are the other detectives, Mr. Holmes," the guard escorting them said, "they shall provide you all of the relevant information."
"Ah, good, a bit more of a starting point," Holmes said with a fabricated smile, "more or less an apprehension."
As Holmes and his companion walked in, the guard left the room. With a loud metallic sound, the door latched, and the other detectives exchanged looks to one another before one spoke up.
"Who are you then?" one asked, a dirty Canterlot accent, one that Sherlock would have recognized as British, dominated his tonality.
"Are you deaf?" Sherlock asked calmly. The stallion recoiled in disgust.
"Am I what?" he asked with an offended tone.
"I figured so," Sherlock replied, before turning his attention to the rest of the detectives, "just in case any of you missed that, my name is Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective. I am sure you have all put your full effort into this case, and I am sure your superiors are grateful for it. However, as it appears, you have gotten no where."
"Gotten no where, listen to this fool!" one shouted with a more posh accent, "We've gotten a lot of places!"
"You are welcome to prove me incorrect," Holmes said with a smile. At the lack of motion, he nodded, before approaching a chalkboard. He drew the same diagram, as if from memory, from when he was in the cell. After briefly explaining it, he continued on to his theories, "in conclusion, our culprit is far more advanced than the "Equestrian Sciences" currently understand. Which means, a usage of elder forensic methodology should be equipped for the finding of this criminal. Maintenance of the surveying portion of the military is of utmost regard, as we want all pertinent information on the culprit's whereabouts, as well as any possible agents of the aforementioned. I trust there is at least some data collected by you of those who are not responsible among the population."
There was a period of silence, as Sherlock sighed, turning to the inspector.
"You are in charge of this case, no?" Holmes asked, before the inspector scoffed.
"Yeah, what of it?" he asked, his accent less derivative of the English-sounding Canterlot, but moreso of the American-sounding Manhattan. Holmes noted this before continuing.
"Have your men organize the data I have given to them, along with what little they may have found," Holmes instructed, "I shall be back after speaking with our first suspects."
"And. . .who are those suspects?" the posh detective asked. Holmes shook his head.
"The first suspects in any murder case, posh pony," Holmes said, "the immediate family."
"How could you suspect the immediate family? That's preposterous!" another detective exclaimed in disagreement.
"Twenty-one point five percent of murders are committed by spouse or relative," Holmes explained, "another forty-five point two percent are committed by friends and acquaintances. Narrowing down the large numbers pertinent to easy-to-find suspects is the first step before continuing on to the greater disparity of murders committed by strangers. This statistical data exists in my world, I would assume it is likened to yours given we have little disparity in conscious capability."
There was nothing left to say from the detectives after Holmes' explanation. Though many felt seething rage towards him out of jealously and belittlement, they knew that he was irrefutably correct and chose to hold their tongues. Holmes left the belligerent lot with Watson, traveling on to the current residence of Twilight Sparkle, which was a specialized hotel for royalty within Canterlot.
Twilight sat quietly with Cadence at her side. While she was not crying, her mood had gotten no better. It was true, of course, that the sudden onset of grievous emotions had subsided, but what was left was far more than just the amplifier of horror. Confusion. Such confusion over what might drive an equine to do such a thing. It was quite apparent, despite her preconceptions, that such a thing could have a motive behind it, but the more she thought about the reasoning of the culprit, the more times she pictured what such a terrifying murder must have been like, and to see her brother suffer over and over again in her head was far too much. Had it not been for that emotional distress, she might have been able to develop a greater case than the many detectives combined.
A knocking sounded at the door, Twilight lifted her head, able to hold back any possible tears from the aforementioned thought and get up to answer. As she opened the door, Holmes and his companion stood in patience, smiling as Twilight held the door open with her hoof.
"Ah, hello!" Twilight said nervously, quickly studying the both of them before giving a cautious chuckle and stepping aside, "come on in, whoever you are."
"Why allow us in if you do not know us?" Watson asked with curiosity, having been under the preconception that Twilight was anticipating their arrival. Upon pondering the fact that she didn't, he turned to Holmes with a disappointed glare.
"Princess of Friendship," Holmes said, "I figured she wouldn't mind us stopping by."
"Well, who are you, then?" Cadence asked. Holmes smiled as he turned to face her.
"A passer-by, you might say," he pointed out, "but you may call me Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective."
"You're joking," Twilight said with lowered ears and a genuinely disappointed face, before being tossed a paper with a seal.
"No, I'm not," Holmes said blatantly, as if he had not detected her emotional response at all, "this is my proof. The seal of Princess Celestia, displayed upon the hardened wax of Canterlot Castle, a letter validifying my identity to the detectives following this case. I believe it will be of a considerable authenticity."
Twilight was in a state of shock. She had read stories of the man in fiction, but never did she think that Holmes himself would somehow manifest into her reality to solve the greatest case known to Equestria. It surely could not have been real; it was certainly unbelievable. Despite this, the credentials were sufficient, there was no way it could have been faked.
"I must be. . .I must be dreaming!" Twilight said, looking up at Holmes as she sat on the floor with her wings outstretched and low, "Sherlock Holmes, a fictional character, and you're real! You're helping solve my brother's murder! This is. . .this is extraordinary! This—it's phenomenal! I will help you with anything you need, tell me what you are here for and I will do everything in my power to assist you!"
While slightly taken aback by the interesting notion of himself as a fictitious entity among equine literature, Holmes maintained his appearance and simply smiled.
"You are the first suspects of our case," he said. Twilight's ears dropped with an expression of confusion. Before Twilight could make even a single utterance, Cadence, silently adhering to the conversation prior, stepped forward to adjudicate the scenario in her own eyes, feeling grossly offended at what she believed was an accusation.
"Nonsense!" Cadence shouted sternly, "It is absolutely unacceptable to accuse—"
"Ah no no," Sherlock said, interrupting the great royal creature with not even a batted eye, "I said suspect. I have made no decisions on a perpetrator, but following statistical data, I must use unrelenting objective reasoning in who I approach and how I approach them. Therefore, I shall observe the family members first and take into account what information there is, before using that information in my deduction. Do not jump to conclusions about accusations, by the way, they make you more suspicious."
Cadence went to speak once more, before Twilight held up her hoof.
"He's right, Cadence," she said, maintaining a straight face and getting up, "We know Shining the best, so we would be the first suspects by that very nature. It's nothing we should take personally."
"Wonderful, ah, would it be acceptable that my colleague and I take a seat to discuss a few matters?" Sherlock asked politely, smiling with admiration of Twilight's considerably professional composure. Twilight turned to him, looking at Watson before lighting her horn and bringing up a few chairs.
"Of course, please, ask what you may," Twilight said, sitting down as well, "I shall answer you to the best of my ability."
"Alright then," Sherlock said, taking a seat while Watson spent a silly amount of time figuring out exactly how to sit. Holmes removed the watch from his wrist—or whatever he might call it—displaying it to Twilight, who looked on with an astounding curiosity. "What would you surmise of this watch's origin upon first glance?"
"From first glance. . ." Twilight said, looking at the now-motionless watch and its strange designs, "It's not nine o'clock, which would indicate that it's broken, but the materials it's made from are far too eloquent to be solely indicative of just some 'old watch'. It's constructed from pure gold, but the interior is fuming with magic. . .and there's something else. . ."
"Crystal." Cadence said, looking over Twilight's shoulder, "the hearts are made with materials from the Crystal Empire, they act as vessels for containing powerful magic, but the magic inside of it isn't from the Crystal Empire."
"Come to think of it," Twilight pondered aloud, "that gold seems to be from Saddle Arabia."
She used her horn to lift the the watch from Sherlock's hoof, bringing it over to a small desk with a few rudimentary study materials. She used her magic to safely disassemble the watch without taking apart it's functional pieces, examining everything that she could and talking as she made her discoveries. Holmes listened closely, as he and Watson approached the desk for a better look.
"The gold here was surely from Saddle Arabia, the hearts from the Crystal Empire with old arcane magic—undetectable by modern unicorn magic. That means that our perpetrator, or at least the manufacturer of this watch, wasn't a unicorn. They used something more akin to Zecora's practice. Come to think of it, Zecora is the only one who could have received these kind of materials! But she couldn't have forged them. . .surely. . ."
"Zecora," Watson repeated to himself, "the elder princess mentioned that name."
"She said one would come," Cadence explained, "by stary portal, from far and wide. . ."
"Our saving grace, restores our pride," Twilight finished, "she spoke of you, Sherlock. Now, you've brought this, and I know she's the only one who could understand it. How did you come across it?"
Holmes smiled, admiring Twilight's ability for a moment before beginning to explain his current deductions.
"Dropped onto the ground with a loosened latch," Holmes remarked, feeling nearly excited by the opportunity to speak to someone who appeared to be on his level, "presumably by our perpetrator, who stole something from our world. A very rare and precious material, perhaps something that wasn't supposed to be there in the first place, if it drew the attention of an extrauniversal creature. I caught only but a glimpse of their silhouette, humanoid in my world but surely not here. They dropped this upon seeing me, but based on what they spoke in that dream, it might have been intentional. This means they must have known me as well, and I'm not sure how."
"Which means this isn't their first endeavor," Twilight concluded, "they've been through the portal several times, so if we can trace back mirror usage, we could more than likely find clues leading to the culprit! Surely they weren't always meticulous."
"A genius ideation," Holmes pointed out with a wholesome smile, "how relieving to hear such wondrous thinking from a creature that isn't myself."
"There you go again, Holmes," Watson muttered under his breath, "egomaniac."
"Ah, thank you," Twilight said with a nervous laugh, "I was beginning to believe I was too emotionally-involved to partake in the case."
"Quite the contrary!" Holmes exclaimed, "you have a remarkable skill—in fact, you may be the key to solving this case!"
Twilight smiled brightly. It was nice to be reassured that there was something she could do about her brother's murder, even if it wasn't to prevent it in the first place. Cadence, however, felt cautious around the strange detective, thinking he had ill intention. She stepped closer to Holmes, flaring out her wings and looking down on him.
"You may have convinced the princesses, but you have not convinced me," she said sternly. Watson felt uneasy, but pretended to exhibit no sense of fear—with substantial failure, of course. Holmes only smiled and looked up as he patiently awaited the Princess' outburst. "Tell me why I should trust you, a stranger, to solve the case of my husband's death. Why should I not believe you are the murderer?"
"Cadence!" Twilight said suddenly, holding her hoof out, "that's enough! Sherlock has come much further than any of our other detectives, and I have an opportunity to do something other than. . .than sulk around and cry all over myself!"
"But you could be hurt! They could be lying!" Cadence pleaded, before Twilight interrupted her again.
"Cadence, tell me," she said sorrowfully, with tears in her eyes, "what else do we have to lose?"
Cadence paused for a moment, considering heavily what Twilight had said. There was plenty to lose, but among those was justice. She would be taking a chance, quite definitely, but to see her husbands murderer executed for the absolute atrocity committed then, and perhaps more monstrous acts undiscovered, there was nothing she wanted more. Twilight was a princess, she could take care of herself, and as much as Cadence was unwilling to admit it, Twilight's relationship was far closer to Shining than her own. She lowered her head, before darting an eye to Sherlock.
"If she is hurt, I won't hesitate to kill you myself," she said, with a grim tone that even Twilight had never known. Twilight began to comment, before Holmes quickly spoke.
"And I would urge you to do so," he said, "for the protection of one's family, and one's beloved, is by far the most important thing any soul can live for. I assure you, it is in my interest to solve this case and to deliver the proper sentence to the criminal we face, together. You may not be of my world, but the pain endured here by the many is just the same—the blood spilled. . .of an identical coloration. So, for sake of brevity, I urge also that we quarrel not with each other, but focus on the facts at hand and what they might offer for us going forth."
"Well-spoken, Holmes," Watson said, patting Holmes' back uncomfortably with his hoof, "now, before you get too full of yourself, we may want to go ahead and make some progress."
"Right you are, Watson!" Holmes said, "let us be off!"