//------------------------------// // Chapter two: Here's the Doctor! // Story: Sherlock Hooves Adventure two: Watson's Missing. // by 30bars //------------------------------// Watson’s questions were answered when another pony with a hooded cloak covering his face walked into the room. He was very huge. Each big step he took echoed off of the wooden floor. He was much bigger than the others, a horn sticking out of his cloak. The horn glowed in a similar blackness that was around Watson. Watson could only watch as the new visitor surveyed the room. He didn’t say anything as he walked closer to Watson. Then he raised his hoof and uncovered his face. He had white fur and a white mane. It was odd that his aura was black. Speaking of odd, his horn was considerably bigger than the other unicorn horns that Watson had seen before. He finally spoke in a deep, slow talking, Russian accent, “You did all this?” he looked around at all the ponies on the floor below him. Watson answered while still being held against the wall. “No, it was your men who came in here and tried to kill me!” The white unicorn chuckled. “Believe me, Sherlock, I would kill myself if these were my men.” He pointed at the floor. Did he say Sherlock? That's what Watson heard. But the only ponies who were convinced Watson’s name was Sherlock is Colgate and that pegasus that talked to him at the bank! That little snitch! One of the ponies pushed himself up a few inches. He had a black eye and a missing tooth. He held out a knife and managed to say, “Bruce, use this,” he coughed, “to kill him.” The white unicorn who was apparently named Bruce snapped the knife out of the pony's hooves and threw it back on the floor sticking up. He said, “No! I'm not killing him.” “But master said…” “I know what he said and I'm not doing it!” The other pony didn't have enough strength to argue. He just laid his head back on the floor and remained quiet. Bruce leaned in close to Watson. “You're lucky I was assigned to kill you, Sherlock, because I'm not really the ‘killing’ type.” Watson didn't do anything. Then Bruce caught a glimpse of his dying comrades. He started, “I hear there’s another pony that you work with. What was his name?” “Watson,” Watson answered. “Oh yeah!” It was very hard for Bruce to sound happy with his deep Russian accent. He continued, “We don't want him to get in our way either.” Bruce paused. “Where is he?” Watson folded his hooves and didn't answer. “No?” Bruce said. “Alright then.” Bruce quickly picked up the knife he threw on the ground and stabbed Watson. He had no time to react. Bruce said, “We have ways of making you talk,” as he took the knife out of Watson's stomach. Watson tried to yell out in pain, but Bruce closed his mouth shut with his magic. Bruce released his levitation on Watson and he fell to the floor, clutching his stomach. The pain was unbearable. Watson could hardly breath. He gritted his teeth. “Oh, you thought I wasn't a killing type?” Bruce sounded like he was joking. He put a hoof on Watson’s shoulder and his horn started to glow. A black spear appeared around Watson and then his gaping wound started to glow in a similar dark light. Watson’s entire body felt a small chill and, somehow, the pain was gone. Watson lifted his hooves off his stomach. There was blood on his hooves, but no wound on his body. Did Bruce heal him? The stallion put more pressure on his hoof that was on top of Watson. “Well I'm not. That was a torture technique. Now tell me where this Watson fellow is or I'll stab you again!” Watson, relieved he didn't have to go through the pain of a knife stab anymore said, “I don't know.” “You don't know?” Bruce clarified. Watson nodded and the enormous unicorn rolled his eyes. He picked up the knife and stabbed Watson again in the same spot. He released the knife and Watson clenched his stomach. Breathing became more and more difficult. Watson saw Bruce just standing there holding his bloody knife. He was waiting. He was taking more time to heal Watson. Celestia, it hurt so bad. But Watson didn't give in. He went through the agonizing pain that would kill him if he didn’t do anything about it. Bruce eventually healed him again and Watson started breathing vigorously, thirsting for the air that he couldn't get when he was injured. “Don’t lie to me, Sherlock!” Bruce yelled out. “Tell me where he is!” He stabbed Watson again. This time, he flipped Watson over onto his back and attacked him there. Bruce continued, “If you don't tell me where he is he will DIE tomorrow. I'm wasn’t assigned to kill him, it's somepony else’s job. So they will be less lenient to spare his life.” Watson just struggled to stay alive himself under the circumstances. “When I heal you, you will tell me where he is, understand?” Watson didn't change anything he was already doing. A black spear surrounded Watson for a third time and his knife wound started to glow. The pain went away immediately, but Watson was still gasping for air because he got very little when he was injured. Bruce waited for an answer. Watson managed to choke out, “You-you underestimate Watson.” Watson started gasping again, “Nopony can just go and kill him.” Bruce sighed, “Alright. If you want your friend dead, then fine with me.” Bruce enchanted Watson's body and then started to walk away. Was he leaving? Watson started to move away from the floor. Nope, Bruce was taking Watson with him. Watson started to scream out, but then his mouth got closed shut. The stallion glared at him. Bruce closed his eyes and a ball of black light formed around each of the injured ponies on Watson’s floor. He was healing all of them at once. They were eventually all healed and they picked up their weapons. Still keeping a hold on Watson, Bruce opened his eyes and started breathing heavily. It was a very exhausting spell to use over and over. One of them caught a glimpse of Watson’s almost empty five gallon jug of bits and said, “Look, Bruce. I say we help ourselves to some change on a job well done!” He picked up one of Watson bits and held it up to stare at it. Bruce enchanted the coin in the ponies hoof and shoved it down his throat. The pony choked on it and eventually had to swallow. Bruce said, “Are you kidding? The way Sherlock kicked all of your butts was embarrassing! He doesn’t even have a single scratch on him! And he was asleep!” All the hooded ponies looked down and kicked their hooves on the floor. The pony who swallowed the coin asked, “What are you going to do with him if you aren't killing him?” “I'm taking him back to the base. I'll put him in the dungeon somewhere. You there,” he pointed to a pony straight in front of him. “Put the note on Sherlock’s bed.” The pony followed his orders and headed towards Watson’s bed. Watson gulped and was continued to be carried out of his room. Bruce went downstairs and Watson could see Sherlock sleeping on his couch. If only he could yell out, then Sherlock would beat all of these guys up again. Thankfully, nopony else saw the sleeping Sherlock. “Outside.” said Bruce and he headed out the front door. The rest of the crew followed. Bruce walked to a flat grassy spot on Watson’s front yard. The rest of the group gathered closer. Bruce said, “Is everypony ready?” They all nodded and he turned to Watson. Bruce took out a sack from his cloak and put it over Watson's head. His world went dark. Then Watson felt movement. It was a strange feeling, really. His body tingled and the floor hardened. The sack was taken off Watson and he saw that he was no longer in his front yard. He had been teleported. Bruce had teleported him. He had teleported everypony The new place was very dark and cold. The floors were hard and the walls were a rough dark purple. They looked almost like they were made of stone. So this was the dungeon/base. All the ponies took off their hoods revealing their faces. Watson immediately realized how odd it was that they all had the same fur color. Light black, but not grey. They were all earth ponies too. “They could be siblings,” Watson supposed, “but I’ve never heard of a mom giving birth to septuplets.” The one that swallowed Watson’s bit stepped forward and said, “Master isn't going to be happy when I tell him you're keeping Sherlock in the base.” “That's why you won’t remember a thing about all this.” Before Bruce could explain his horn glowed and everyponies head became encased in a similar black color. Their eyes flashed bright colors. First green, then yellow and then a bright white. He was erasing their memories. After a good ten seconds, the glowing faded. All the ponies blinked and shook their head to focus. One of them said, “Okay, Bruce, let's teleport to Sherlock’s house and kill him!” the pony held up a baton that was in his hooves. “Already done,” said Bruce. “I used a spell that can kill anypony from a distance. He never saw it coming.” The pony smiled, then frowned. He said, “Why haven't you been using that before?” “Um, I just found out about it. And you can only use it once in your entire life,” he lied. The pony smiled and nodded his head. “Oh…” he said. “Who's that?” he pointed at Watson who had been standing behind Bruce the entire time. “He’s your annoying cousin and doesn't want to talk to you anymore.” “Oh.” He said with sadness in his voice. Bruce lightly chuckled. “Alright, tell master Sherlock is dead. I'll escort your cousin away. “Yes, sir.” the pony saluted. The other ponies followed his example. Then the first pony backed away and up some stairs that had light at the exit. The door was in the ceiling so the entire dungeon was probably hidden by a trap door. Once everypony was gone, Bruce turned and said, “follow me,” to Watson Watson supposed he could have made a run for it, but he wouldn't get far before Bruce caught him, so he just followed his kidnapper. Down the dark, cold dungeon. Bruce and Watson turned a corner and Watson gasped when he saw another pony down here. He was inside a prison cell. The door was a large hole in the wall with thick, iron bars covering the exit. The rest of the prison walls were matching, dark purple walls just like the rest of the dungeon. The pony inside had light, brown colored fur and a brown mane that looked exactly like Watson’s. Watson also spotted an hourglass cutie mark on his flank. Bruce chuckled, “Do you recognize him, Sherlock?” “Sherlock?” the British accented stallion said behind his prison bars. He sounded like he didn’t believe that Watson was Sherlock. “I can see the family resemblance,” said Bruce. Family resemblance? Bruce thought that Watson was Sherlock. The only family that Sherlock had was...his brother, Dr. Whooves. The one who ran away from home when Sherlock was little and changed his last name. “Um,” Doctor began, “brother, you’ve...changed.” he went with. “Alright, I’ll let you catch up on your family time after we hide you Sherlock.” said Bruce. “Follow me.” Bruce and Watson walked past Dr. Whooves’s cell and went to an adjacent one next to it. Bruce enchanted the prison bars and they slid up into the ceiling. Watson looked up at it and wondered where the bars went. Bruce took a serious tone, “in.” Watson wished he could fight back now. If only he had a weapon. Instead, he simply glared back at Bruce. With a slightly angry expression, Watson walked slowly into the cell. Once his entire body was inside, he heard the bars come back down behind him and knew he was officially trapped. He turned and faced Bruce, still with his slightly angry expression written on his muzzle. Bruce didn’t catch on to how angry Watson was. Bruce backed away and spoke like he was talking to a friend, “Now, if master comes down then you better shut it.” He backed away to the shelf that was leaning on one of the dark purple walls. He started looking for something on it. “If he finds out you’re alive then he’ll kill me.” He grabbed a folded up white sheet and smiled. “And you too.” he pointed at Watson with his white sheet. “So I’m going to cover your cell up with this.” He started to unfold the sheet. It was still white, but Bruce seemed proud about it. “This is something I like to call an iguana blanket. It can change its color and texture to whatever it’s on.” Bruce walked towards Watson’s cell and hung up the white sheet so it covered the entire entrance. Watson couldn’t see the dungeon through the bars anymore because of it. The blanket made some crackling noises. Watson could see the white side of the blanket forming a rough texture. When the crackling sound stopped Watson heard Dr. Whooves say, “That’s amazing. It looked like nothing’s there. Like it’s just another wall.” “It is good, isn’t it?” Bruce agreed. “How are you doing in there, Sherlock?” He said at a louder volume. “I’m fine.” Watson shouted back. “Note, Sherlock, that the sheet doesn’t block sound. So what are you going to do if master comes down?” Watson sighed, “Shut it.” Bruce said happily, “Good! Now I got to go.” “What about food?” Watson said. “Huh?” “What about food! What am I going to eat? You can’t let me starve!” “Oh, uh. I’ll bring you something for breakfast. Thanks for reminding me.” Watson sighed again. If he could flip Bruce off, he would. But Bruce couldn’t see him. “I’ll see you in the morning.” said Bruce. “Just continue sleeping and pretend you were never kidnapped.” Watson knew that was never going to happen. The cell was empty. No bed or windows (or toilet) and it was very cold. Watson could already see the goosebumps forming on his hooves. He heard the squeak of a trap door opening. But it sounded as if somepony was actually walking down instead of up. Watson could heard Bruce say, “Master. Do you need anything?” Silence continued. Then Watson heard 'master' talk. He didn't have a very deep voice like Bruce and he sounded smaller than him. He said calmly, “Bruce? What are you doing down here?” “Um, I thought I heard the prisoner escape, sir.” More silence. “So, you're trying to leave, are ya?” the master's voice echoed throughout the dungeon. Watson did as he was told and shut it. “No, I was just complaining that I don't get to bathe. You've had me down here for at least three days and I demand to be clean.” said Doctor. “I don't think you'll be caring about your hygiene anymore. I thought I'd wait to tell you, but I’ll say it now. Your brother, is dead.” He seemed pretty proud about the fact. Of course, Dr. Whooves knew otherwise. “Right, Bruce? Tell him how you murdered him as he lay asleep, then you teleported the corpse to the depths of the earth, never to be found!” “YOU MONSTER!!” the doctor was a very good actor. Even Watson wondered whether he truly thought Sherlock was dead. The master chuckled. “You'll get over it. When I rule Equestria, I'll have your entire family killed. And I'll kill that Watson fellow’s family as well.” he paused and Watson felt an urge to try and punch the master. “Did you find Watson, Bruce?” Bruce spoke, “Um, no. Sherlock wasn't talking so I just killed him before anypony saw, sir.” “You idiot! I need him dead too for my plan to work! I don’t want them sniffing his little detective nose in our business. I. Need. Him. Dead.” The sound of hoof on face contact could be heard and Bruce groaned. “I have a plan.” Bruce managed to say. “What is it, idiot?” “I left a note on Sherlock’s bed telling Watson to got to the silver fountain. When we get the zebra to go into the alleyway next to it we’ll shoot it. He will look for the source of the noise and when he goes down a certain alley, a net will fall on him and trap him. And make him a sitting target for us to kill.” More silence. The master said, “That's…not half bad. We’ll be killing two ponies in one trip. Alright Bruce, I’ll give your plan a shot. In the morning we will get Night Chaser and Moon Dirt to assassinate. We don't want the cops to think that these killings have anything to do with each other. That's why we need different assassins for different targets.” “I know,” said Bruce. Watson heard the sound of hooves going up stairs. Then a creaky trap door being opened, then it being shut again. Dr. Whooves question ended the silence pervading the dungeon, “Watson, where’s my brother?” “So you know who I am. Surprising. He’s back at my house.” Watson answered back. “How do you know about me, while I don't know a thing about you?” “My brother has been in the newspapers countless times, you don't think I'd read it?” “Nopony ever reads the newspapers. Why isn't your cell hidden?” Watson changed the subject. “Because they know I'm down here. They want to use me for my inventions.” “Like what? What did you invent?” Dr. Whooves sighed. “I never should have invented such a deadly weapon. Watson, I created something I call a gun. It's like a miniature cannon that fires miniature cannon balls.” “And it's deadly?” “Oh, yeah. The bullets can go straight through a pony and a half.” “And you gave it to them?” “No…yes, they tortured me into it. The big unicorn stabbed me and then healed me just so he could stab me and make me go through the pain again.” “They did that to me, too. How many times did he get you?” “Seven.” Dr. Whooves remembered the experience all too vividly. Then the wrecking sound of sobs echoed around the dungeon. Dr. Whooves was crying. Watson said, “Are you alright?” “No.” He answered tearfully. “Tomorrow they’re going to kill Sherlock. And I can't warn him or anything.” Watson should have felt bad that he didn't give up Sherlock’s location to Bruce, but he wasn't. “You don't know Sherlock.” Watson said. “One does not simply kill Sherlock Hooves.” Dr. Whoopes sighed a little with the reassurance Watson gave him. He slowly said, “How is Sherlock?” Watson said, “He lives in his office, but that’s being fumigated, so right now he lives with me.” Dr. Whooves gave a big sigh of shame and said, “I left home when I was really young to start my own business. Sherlock really depended on me and I just left him. Watson, does Sherlock really talk about his childhood life?” “No. He mentioned you when he saw you in the paper for inventing the parachute and he saw that you changed your last name. He told me that you ran away from home when you were young and that changing your last name was a complete abomination to the Hooves family. Other than that, no. He never mentioned his parents or relatives.” “That was because we were orphans.” Watson’s mouth hung open slightly as he processed what he heard. Dr. Whooves spoke again, “What time is it Watson?” He took out his pocket watch he always carried with him. “Two-thirty in the morning.” “Good. That means I have plenty of time to tell you how I ruined Sherlock’s life before he dies in the morning.” Special thanks to 24outthedoor and Brony707 for editing.