//------------------------------//
// Quick as a Flash 
// Story: The Adventures of Sherclop Pones 
// by B_25 
//------------------------------//

NB: You might want to re-read the last Chapter. It’s been a while since I’ve updated, after all.

The precession to the hospital was as follows: Gregson and Lestrade at the front of the cab, chatting idly, and Pones, the two ladies and myself in the back. I was pleased – it gave me time to ask questions, but Pones would have none of it.
“My dear stallion!” he cried as the cab rushed past a group of startled pedestrians. “If you do not know my methods by now, then you are a poor student indeed. A magician never reveals his secrets.”
“But it is not your magic I wish to learn, only what you have learnt!” I replied.
“Ah, but then the knowledge would seem disjointed and out-of-place. Be patient, Trotson.”
Rainbow Dash, who had been eyeing us with a degree of curiosity and uncertainty, spoke up.
“So… what did he just say?”
“He said he won’t be answering questions just yet, dear,” Spitfire said, reaching over and laying a comforting hoof on her leg. “Just sit tight, I’m sure the Colonel will be able to explain everything.”
She turned to Pones with a hopeful smile, but he was already looking away and out of the window, brow furrowed in concentration.
“There is only one thing that remains to be seen, and we will know if he talks,” he muttered under his breath.
“What’s that?” I replied.
He gave me a glare.
“Alright, alright!” I said, surrendering.

We arrived at the hospital, and alighted from the cab in an untidy rush. A large crowd of press had gathered at the tall, large double doors, and no sooner had I stepped out then they hurried towards us. They continually yammered Spitfire’s name, each of them shouting questions.
“Spitfire! Is it true there was an attempt on your life last night?!”
“Were you seen drunk at Berry’s?”
“Who’s the new friend?! Come on, give us a moment!” 
There was an awkward moment where we were hemmed in by them, unable to reach the doors.
“Alright, that’s enough of that!” Yelled Bradsteed over the hubbub, shoving the nearest photographer back. “Move it!”
We jostled and pushed our way through the mob, though going was slow. I felt a few hooves tugging at my jacket, and turned, surprised, only to be suddenly blinded by several flashes of pure-white light.

I stood there for a moment, blinking and dazed while stars flashed before my eyes. 
“That will do!” said the voice of Pones from behind me, and with a hard push I was shunted forward. One unfortunate soul was unlucky enough to be stuck between me and the double-doors, and he fell to one side as I half-fell, half-stumbled through the doorway. The rest of the press seemed to care little for his plight, stepping on him and attempting to squeeze by me, but again Bradsteed was in his element, butting and shoving any and all that came near the doorway with shoves of his broad hooves. 

No sooner had we all been hustled inside than the doors were thrown shut, dimming the sudden blur of noise.
“What on earth?” I panted, gesturing at the door.
“Photographers,” said Pones, turning down the collar of his jacket.
“I know that. How did they get wind of it so quickly?”
“You’d be surprised how fast news gets around when you’re a Pegasus,” Spitfire said, appearing unbothered. “And you get used to it after a while.”
“I know I could,” Dash chimed in gleefully. “That was pretty cool. I feel like a celebrity!”
“Speak for yourself,” I grumbled. “I feel like the last piece of meat in a roomful of starving bears.”
“Seems about right,” Spitfire added, smiling meekly.

Without further ado we hastened to the reception, where the orderly told us that the Colonel was awaiting our arrival anxiously in room 304. 

No sooner had the words left her lips then Spitfire was off like a rocket. She nearly bowled over a pair of frightened-looking interns as she burst through a wide set of double-doors, and with a hasty apology she flew left and up a flight of stairs. 
“Wait!” The receptionist cried. “You have to sign in!…”
Her words were lost to Spitfire. She instead turned to the rest of us, eyeing us fiercely.
“Sign in,” she commanded, jabbing the paper. 
I hastily signed and hurried after her, leaving the four in my wake. The rest of them were quite happy to meander slowly behind (with the possible exception of Rainbow Dash). 

Either side of the staircase were more unfortunate ponies who had not had the good grace to move out of Spitfire’s way, and they looked slightly dazed and wild-eyed. 

We arrived at the third floor to hear an argument taking place. One voice was Spitfire’s, though it was oddly coarse and squeaky, and the other was a gruff-sounding baritone.
“…He’s sleeping. You can’t see him,” said the low voice sternly.
“Don’t you tell me who I can’t see!” Spitfire replied haughtily.
I rounded the corner to see an extremely distraught Spitfire. Her wings fluttered with frustration, and a look of panic was about her face. She was desperately trying to weave around a Doctor, who blocked her with a lazy hoof.
“He needs his rest.”
Spitfire made a furious growling noise, an angry scowl flickering across her face.
“Move. Now.”
The medical pony gulped. Suddenly the pretty young mare in front of him was twice as intimidating, and he felt half as tall. He stepped to one side gingerly, and let her stalk by him, tail swishing in agitation.
I walked up to him, and saw that he was standing by, peering into the room, puzzled.
“Hello there,” I said amiably, to which he jumped.
“Who are you?” he said, sounding a little less gruff and a little more worried.
“I’m a doctor,” I said. “There will be two policeponies, the patient's student, and a private detective coming up in a moment. Would you be so kind as to direct them in here?”
He gave no look of comprehending what I said, instead simply opening and closing his mouth in disbelief.
“There’s a good fellow,” I added with a grin, clapping him on the shoulder with a hoof before pushing my way into the room.
I closed the door behind me, and, turning back, immediately saw the Colonel.

He was not as youthful as he had been before, and his face reflected it. He was quite pale and gaunt – even against the white bedsheets of the hospital. He looked in equal parts pained and pleased to see me and spitfire, and he looked up from where she clung to his neck, gasping at me as I entered.
“Alright then, Doctor?” he wheezed.
“Spitfire!” I said hurriedly. “I think you’re choking him.”
Spitfire immediately relaxed the vice-like embrace of the hug she was giving him, and the colour rushed back into the Colonel’s face, restoring his handsome features. 
“Phew! Thank you, Doctor…” he said, gasping a little. “I don’t know how much more of that I could have taken.”
Spitfire glowered at him, and I drew up a seat for myself. Spitfire, I noticed, hurried to shift her seat alongside Flash’s bed, taking the Colonel’s blue-grey hoof in both of her own. He gave her a nervous smile, and the two stared at each other.
We sat in silence for a moment, before I felt obliged to ask the obvious question.
“How are you feeling?”
“A little hollow, if you’ll forgive the expression,” The Colonel said, turning his pale grey eyes towards me. “Did you get the blighter?”
“Twice,” I replied.
His shoulders relaxed somewhat.
“Good, good…” he murmured, and I saw that a greater weight had been removed from his shoulders then he had let on. “Then it’s all over.”
“I should say so,” said Pones, as he opened the door behind us, causing all three of us to jump. Rainbow Dash was following him, her eyes lighting up as she set her eyes on the Colonel. She gave an excited squeal and swiftly brushed by us both to hug him, but she paused at the edge of the bedside, looking down at him morosely.
“Would you stop doing that?!” I said to Pones, bristling.
“Doing what?” he inquired.
I made a resigned noise, and, without further challenge, he drew up a seat for himself.
“Where are the others?” I inquired.
“Bradsteed and Gregson chose to wait outside,” Pones said.
“Uh, Doc,” Rainbow Dash’s voice asked from to my left. 
“Yes?” I replied, turning and seeing her still standing by the side of the Colonel’s bed.
“Am I allowed to hug him?”

To be honest, I had no idea what his surgery entailed, as I was not his physician, but I was convinced that she could do no harm, so I smiled and nodded. After all, if the poor stallion was not choked to death by Spitfire, then what were the odds that the energetic filly could do any worse?

Quite high, as it turned out. She did not so much hug him as let out a great whoop of delight before savagely seizing him around the midriff. The Colonel winced in pain for a second time, but made no show of it. I opened my mouth to scold Dash, but the Colonel caught my eye, and I too said nothing.
“I’m glad you’re okay, Coach,” Rainbow Dash said. Her words was muffled from beneath the tuft of fur on the Colonel’s chest, but unlike her usual coarse and brash manner, they were rather squeaky and quiet. 
“You too, Dash,” her instructor said, patting her on the head with his spare hoof. 

The cyan Pegasus raised her head and wiped her eyes quickly with a forehoof, as though she did not want to be seen upset. It was only a moment before she released her hug, taking a seat at the foot of the bed.
“Something in my eye,” she muttered to herself, rubbing them with balled-up hooves.
I looked away to the Colonel, not wanting to attract attention to her obvious anxiety. He gave me a faint smile, before glancing over at my friend.
“Pones,” The Colonel said cordially, nodding his head. 
“Very good to see you alive and well, Colonel,” Pones said. The mention of his mortality set me on edge, but I knew from the very serious expression on my friend’s face that he meant every word.
“Yes, well, at least it’s all done now.”
“Not quite.”
The colour vanished from the Colonel’s face once more.
“How do you mean?” He said.
“I mean that you must now explain yourself to those present,” Pones replied sternly.
I looked confusedly from one to the other before realising what my friend had said before. 
“What is there to explain, exactly?” I asked, puzzled.
“We shall start, as always, from the beginning,” said Pones. “And hopefully, with the Colonel’s input, we shall put this little saga away under lock and key.”
The Colonel objected almost instantly.
“Must I? Come now, my friend, surely there is no harm done by leaving history out of it!”
“You owe it to everypony in here to fess up.”
I felt the blood rush to my face.
“What are you saying?” Spitfire added, glancing at her commanding officer. The Colonel shifted uncomfortably in his bed.	
“I am saying that Mr. Flash has not been entirely honest,” Pones replied, touching his hooftips together pensively and staring at the Colonel.  

Everypony in the room then watched the Colonel, expecting an explanation. He looked dejected, miserable, and then, as he gave up, totally defeated.
“Alright then,” he said with a deep sigh. “But before I begin, I want to make one thing very clear.”
“And what would that be?” Pones said.
“I did not do anything wrong.”
“The ponies whose lives you’ve so carelessly risked will be the judge of that,” he replied.
The Colonel winced again. I found it exceedingly unnerving to watch him and the profound effect that Pones was having on him.
“It all starts with Firestone.”
“I have already explained to them how you were in Charge.”
“O-oh?”  His voice shook a little. “Well, I don’t know where I should begin…”
“Maybe you should start by saying how you know Moran.”
Dash butted in loudly, glaring fiercely at her coach. 
“Wait – you know this psycho?” 
The Colonel shrunk a little under her intense gaze.
“Yes,” he replied. 
“How?”
“He was in Firestone with me.”
“And…?” Pones said, waving a hoof expectantly.
The bedridden Pegasus looked around for an escape. Finding none, he stared at his lap.
“He was the one maimed by the dragon. It tore his wing off at the shoulder.”

I turned inwardly. For a Pegasus to lose a wing was devastating. I had mercifully never had to amputate one before, but it was the mere sympathy within me that such an injury conveyed. Pegasus were majestic, proud, and brave. For one to lose the ability to fly - it would be akin to the deepest and most anguished torture to look at the sky every day and not be able to soar through it. 

Spitfire gasped a little and turned a faint shade of cream. Even Rainbow Dash’s usual bravado was punctured by the announcement, and she turned blankly to the Colonel, mouth slightly open.
“W-what does that mean?”
“It means, Miss Dash,” Pones replied,“That–”
“Wait!” 
I turned away from Pones, surprised. The Colonel was sitting fully upright, holding a hoof out. The other was still being tensed tightly by Spitfire. He gave her a guilty look and pried it loose.
“I’ll tell the story, if you don’t mind.”
Pones nodded, and he cleared his throat.
“There was an error.”
“An error?”
“A mistake. My mistake. He lost his wing because of it.”

He continued to stare at his lap, though now he had stopped fidgeting. All trace of nervousness had gone, and in its place was sadness. There was a long silence.
“I called the shots. I didn't give the order, but I got him hurt,” the Colonel said. “Clear as that.”
“B-but… you were cleared,” Spitfire stammered, reaching out to comfort him.
“No!” He said, flinching away from her grasp and speaking surprisingly firmly. 
Spitfire looked as though he’d slapped her.
“It was still my fault. Accidents happen because ponies make mistakes, and it doesn’t matter if they did it on purpose or not. I did a bad job of training him.”

He took a deep breath, and shifted his gaze to the window. Outside, the morning sun had given way to a slight veil of grey cloud.
“I did it, whether I meant to or not,” he said. “I did it. I killed those two foals, Pones, and ruined Moran's life.”
The silence was total, utter, deafening. A solitary tear found its way down the officer’s usually handsome features.
“And now, I've killed my best student. I killed feathers.” 
“Don’t be like that…” Spitfire said comfortingly. “The report clearly says that you didn’t give the order, and we know for a fact that you didn’t kill Feath–”

Something in the Colonel snapped. He gave no sign of anger, but in a moment of swiftness, he seized a glass from a nearby table and hurled it at the wall, where it exploded into a million pieces. Dash flinched in fright, as did Spitfire. Pones did not even bat an eyelid.
The silence returned for a moment, before the door opened behind us. The doctor stuck his head in, unsure.
“What was that?”
“Oh, just a glass,” I said. 
There was an awkward pause, and I saw the Doctor’s eyes fly to the indentation left in the wall, and the splattering of the water there.
“Right. I’ll come back later and clean it up.”
The stallion retracted his head, and the door closed with a soft clink of metal on metal.

I turned my attention back to the Colonel. He continued to look out the window, though his jaw was set, his cheeks were forced into an expression of nothingness. Tears still continued to stream from his face.
“Feathers used to say that I was hard to know. Like a closed book. All he saw was my exterior.” He paused, releasing a shuddering breath. “Celestia, I loved those kids,” he muttered. “I killed them. I didn’t do it. But I didn’t do enough. That’s why they died. Because of me.” 

The Colonel glanced at us, one by one, trying to read our faces. There was nothing to read. Everybody was too stunned and shocked to say a word.

Except for Spitfire.
“That doesn’t make you a murderer.”
Flash scoffed, an incredulous smile coming about his features.
“That’s probably the worst part of it. It doesn’t. And neither does this ordeal.”
He grinned at me. I could see through the forced expression that he burned with anger and self-hated.
“I should be the one with no wing, no career. Everything I have, I owe to them.” 
His jaw trembled.
“And now, by not acting sooner, I've killed feathers.”
Rainbow Dash stood up angrily, glaring at her Instructor.
“You didn’t do anything!” she shouted, bringing the noise in the room to deafening levels. “You didn’t do it, and I didn’t do it, and none of us did it! So just shut up!”
Her face crumpled with those last words, and she broke into small sobs. Immediately Spitfire rose, coming over to the side of the bed and coaxing her with a hoof.
“Hey now, Dashie, don’t cry…”
She hustled the distraught filly into her own seat, and I hastily gave up my own, coming to stand at the end of the bed. Spitfire immediately drew the seat close together, allowing the bereaved Pegasus to lay her curious multi-coloured mane on her own shoulder, where she made motherly sounds.

Flash was forced to watch the pitiful sight of the ever-Loyal Pegasus breaking down. That was too much for him.
“I knew he’d want to get back at me.”
“You mean Moran?” I asked. I did not enjoy asking the questions, but somepony had to do it, and the two mares should not have to.
Here, he looked guiltier than ever. He averted his eyes to his lap once more.
“Yes. I talked to him. He hated me. He blamed me for what happened. And then, when I was acquitted, he would not even speak to me, but he said that he would have his revenge. ‘I’ll take your life apart piece by piece’, He spat at me.”
He shuddered.
“He was an angry foal. Parents hated him. Life hated him. And, when he signed up, for the first time in his life, he’d finally got a bit of happiness in the army. He was good. Real good. Would have made a wonderbolt, maybe. Losing his wing was like losing everything he’d ever had, and more.”
“But you didn’t do it.”
“I didn’t pull the trigger. But I should have trained him better. I should have made my orders clearer. He made a basic mistake. And that’s my fault, because I was his teacher.”
“You can’t change what somepony else does. You are blameless.”
“But I did!” the Colonel snapped. 
I said nothing. He continued to watch me from behind angry, watery grey eyes.
“I changed him when I met him. He idolized me, and he signed up just to emulate me. He used to be a deadbeat, and then, a year later, he was one of the academy's top fliers. Until he lost it all doing something stupid. I know if I’d changed him a little harder, he mightn’t have lost his wing.”
“So he got even,” Pones said quietly.
“Yes. It took him years, and I managed to press his threats to the back of my mind. And then, when he finally came for me, I wasn't fast enough on the uptake. Again, ponies died because of my slowness."
"How did you know it might be Moran?"
"It didn't occur to me until after I went to see Fletcher."
"Your second-in-command, you mean?" Pones clarified.
"Yes. He was my senior in every way but rank, and I looked up to him immensely."
"You were not sure it was Moran at the time," Pones said. "You went to Fletcher's house to talk the matter of your pupil's death over with him, but you were rebuffed by the constable at the door."
My ears pricked at the thought.
"Do you mean to say that you were that stallion in the brown coat...?"
"Yes, I was. I saw you as you ran past, though I did not hail you." He looked at his clasped forehooves instead of addressing me directly.
"And then what did you do?" I pressed.
"I went and mourned in the park," he said flatly, staring at the wall opposite the bed, where drops of water had pooled with the shards of glass. "I thought about who would do such a thing. I was torn in my grief. My two greatest friends in the world, who I had loved and cherished as brothers..." He paused. "And it was that very thought that sparked the memory of Moran. The military style, the brutal execution... It fitted. I wasted no time in going to the police - instead, I flew home, got my service revolver, and flew straight to Spitfire’s.”

The room was deathly silent as the Colonel paused to draw breath.
“I could not be certain if she was to be next, but I knew that whoever it was, they had already taken my student and my best friend...” 
The Colonel looked over at Spitfire.
“I would sooner die then let them take the love of my life.”
Dash’s head perked up from Spitfire’s shoulder. She was still upset, but it did not stop her surprise.
“W-what!?” she stammered, her voice still hoarse.
“Yes, Dashie. I had hoped to keep it on the backburner, lest the press got wind of it. But it is true, and I was prepared to risk my life to save her.”
The bewildered cyan pegasus looked over at her surrogate sister. Spitfire was biting her lip, a solitary tear falling from one eye. The Colonel smiled weakly.
“It was a good guess,” I said.
“It was an assured guess,” he replied, looking over at me. “It was clear to me that this murderer was truly after me. Piece by piece.”
“So you stood outside and waited?...” I asked timidly. I gulped down the black fear that had engulfed me during my own night vigil, and imagined the sheer strength of will that must have kept the Colonel glued to the staircase, hour after intermidable hour.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Spitfire asked, her own voice raspy.
“...I was going to,” he replied. “When I arrived at the house, Doctor Trotson was already there. I knew then that I could act in concert with him, and that your safety would be garaunteed.”
“But... why didn’t you tell me?” she repeated her question more insistently.
“It was for the best,” he replied. “Better to put both you and the good doctor out of harm’s way.”
“But he had a gun,” I objected. 
“Aye, and he had his banded knife too. He put it away when he saw me, and went for his gun, but it did not matter to me. Once I clapped eyes on Moran, there was no more question of it. It was either him or me, and what we killed eachother with was of little concern.”
“It was a brave thing you did,” Pones said dryly. “Brave, but dishonest.”
“I would sooner have died than lived with the knowledge that I had had the chance to do something and did nothing,” the Colonel replied. “And yes, it was dishonest. I only hope that it has been enough to admonish me in your eyes. It has done nothing to assuage my own guilt.”
The wonderbolt Captain gazed wistfully out of the window. Outside, the light rolled in, though the warmth it brought was marred by the sad scene before us. Dash continued to hiccup every now and again. 

It was Spitfire who broke the silence.
“You can’t do this to yourself,” she said simply. “It wasn’t your fault. None of this was your fault.”
The Colonel opened his mouth, gasping in invisible pain. I knew that pain all too well. Like a stone stake driven through one’s heart, it burns hotter than any dragon fire. 
“But if I had been quicker...”
She moved swiftly. I saw merely a flash of discipline she had. A vague fragment of the loyalty, found in the lifetime of servitude and training, and a hint of steely resolve in her eyes, flecked with tears of compassion. She hugged the Colonel and wept openly, cutting him off.
“Don’t!” she sobbed. “Don’t say you could have done anything. Because you couldn’t have.”
I could see the seasoned veteran struggle to keep a straight face.
“Do you still... Do you still love me?” he asked.
She gazed up at him, golden eyes still filled with crystalline dew.
“More than ever,” she returned shakily. 

He let out a deep sigh of relief and embraced her, nuzzling her silently, his tears mingling with hers. As I sit writing this, my chest burns merely to think about how much pain he must have been in, but he obviously cared nothing for himself. 

Dash, who wore an expression of pure misery, began to bawl, and immediately flung herself upon the pair.
“S-stop it, you guys!” she wailed, hugging them both. “Y-you’re making me cry a-hic!-again!”
It was at that point that I took my leave. Pones had already left.
“Time heals all wounds,” Pones said, smiling at me as we exited the back-door. “You need not worry for our dear friend, the Colonel. His self-blame has no solid hoof to stand on, and he will realise that in the end, provided Spitfire is there to remind him.”

I felt half-inclined to ask him how on earth he had divined my concern for the unfinished tale. But we were not on actually on the earth. Up here in the clouds, where Celestia’s sun shone brightest, anything might have been possible.
“You may consider the matter settled,” Pones said.
I felt my face turn into a smile for what felt like the first time in weeks.

Why does every adventure with Pones consume so much time, one wonders?


*  *  *


We returned home via the next available balloon. I never thought I’d be so pleased to just go home, or to see the people I hold dear! 

...It’s a shame that my wife couldn’t say the same for me.

She sat in the doorway of my Ponyville home-to-be, forelegs folded, and an extremely cross look on her face. When I asked what was wrong, she threw a magazine at me.

It was one of the many rags containing all the latest celebrity news. Hot off the Cloudsdale presses, the front page boasted. Unfortunately for me, this was quite literal.

“What’s wrong!?” she said, her voice reaching an incredulous squeak. 

‘Spitfire has a new boy toy! More inside...’ the gossip rag read. Upon the front was a big picture of yours truly... (No, I’m not going to put it here. Go find it yourself!)
“...Horsefeathers, the mail gets around quickly,” I mumbled. 
Felicia stormed inside.

Thankfully, by the end of the day, I had explained all there was to be explained (and become sufficiently practiced in catching thrown crockery in my teeth).

I don’t recall ever being paid in the matter, but as always, I cared little. I did recieve a rather interesting envelope in the mail, though, and I have had it framed and set upon Felicia’s mantle-piece. It was a thank-you card, signed by the entire wonderbolts team. Mercifully, Redheart failed to notice the little hearts that dotted the ‘i’ in the name of wonderbolt’s newest recruit... 

She was slightly disapproving of the way I had so recklessly endangered myself, but it was with a good heart that she endured me. Not that I blamed her at all, of course.

She had less tolerance for Pones, though. She swore she’d wring his neck the next time she saw him for risking my life like that.

(He’s yet to come round for dinner.)