//------------------------------// // A Study In Scarlet, CHAPTER THREE: The Roseluck Garden Mystery // Story: Sheerluck Hooves // by SkelePone //------------------------------// “The game is afoot.” ― Arthur Conan Doyle, Adventure of the Abbey Grange Time Turner woke fairly early one morning, not but ten days after Sheerluck had come to stay. When he awoke, he found his wife Derpy still fast asleep beside him, snoring softly. He bent over and kissed her forehead gently before carefully getting up and sneaking downstairs to grab a bite to eat. When Time Turner reached the kitchen downstairs, he was only moderately surprised to see Sheerluck already there, sipping hot tea and reading the Ponyville Confidential. “Ah, good morning, Doctor.” Sheerluck greeted him merrily. “Morning, Sheerluck. Any tea left?” “In the pot, yes.” The toaster let out a ding and seconds later Time Turner saw a pair of toast float by in a levitation field. The Doctor watched the cooked bread make its way to Sheerluck, who immediately devoured a piece while placing the other on his plate. As he crunched on his toast, Time Turner finished pouring his tea and sat across from Sheerluck at the small table. Sheerluck looked up at the Doctor, raising an eyebrow. Time Turner swore he saw a mischievous twinkle in the grey unicorn’s eyes. Sheerluck said nothing, however, and simply went back to reading. Time Turner glanced across the cover of the newspaper. Nothing actually perked his interest. But the paper was a school production that his daughter worked on, so he always made sure to give it a glance or two every now and then. Suddenly Sheerluck began to speak. "From a drop of water," he said in a lecturing tone, "anypony could deduce it being from an ocean or a waterfall without having seen or heard of one or the other. All of life is a great chain and the nature of which is known whenever we are shown a single link of it. Like all other arts, the science of deduction and analysis is one which can only be acquired by long and patient study nor is life long enough to allow any mortal to attain the highest possible perfection in it. Let him learn at a glance to distinguish the history of the stallion, and the profession to which he belongs. By a stallion’s coat, by his mane style, by the flaws in his hooves, by his cutie mark, by his expression. By each of these things a stallion’s calling is plainly revealed." “Um… What?” “It is an article I plan on writing for this paper. On deductions.” “Deductions?” “The same technique I used to identify your profession about a week and a half ago. Cracks on your hoof. Cutie mark as an hourglass, mane styled to prevent it from getting tangled in machinery. Darting eyes. Evident of a creative mind and that of an inventor. It’s elementary.” “Ohhh… You’re good.” “I know.” Sheerluck gave the Doctor a half-grin and returned to reading his paper. Time Turner was a very, very intelligent pony. But speaking to Sheerluck made him feel insignificant. Not good enough. Like he was inferior to Sheerluck Hooves. “Anyways, Derpy is about to wake up. She’s a few minutes late to work.” “What?!” Time Turner choked on his tea as he whirled around to check the clock mounted on the kitchen wall. It was indeed past time for his wife to get to the post office. Literally seconds after Sheerluck had made his statement known, Derpy came flying down the stairs (literally flying). She gave Time Turner a quick peck on the lips and waved goodbye to Sheerluck, who gestured in acknowledgement from his position behind the newspaper. As soon as the door slammed closed, Sheerluck’s voice emanated once more from behind the paper. “I am expecting a client today. He messaged me yesterday informing me on a murder that occurred in Canterlot not too long ago. He is the new captain of the Royal Guard and his own detectives are stumped. He seeks me for consultation.” “So why tell me?” Time Turner couldn’t help but ask. “Because I would like for you to accompany me.” Time Turner heard the crunch of toast once again. “But… I have to watch Dinky tod-” “Taken care of. She will be staying with Miss Rarity and Sweetie Belle.” “But I’m needed at the lab-” “I assure you that your laboratory will not run away on two magical legs while you are helping me investigate this. Well, ninety-five percent sure. Get one of your ridiculous ties. You’ll want to look good for the Captain. Be ready to leave within the hour, if you please. Chop chop.” Time Turner got out of his chair, leaving behind his teacup. He obediently went upstairs to his room to pick out a tie. When he had returned, he saw that Sheerluck had already pulled on his cape and deerstalker cap. And the damned bubble pipe was out again, making a splattery mess on the just-cleaned floors. Time Turner decided to ignore that. For the sake of his sanity. Sheerluck led the still hushed Doctor out of the house and down the street. It wasn’t until they had boarded the Ponyville Express and were trundling down the tracks that Time Turner finally had his voice return to him. “So what am I doing again?” “You’ve seen things, Doctor. As a consultant, I may actually need a consultant.” “Ah… what? Come again?” “I saw the prototype for that time machine on the wall. I know you’ve built one that works. And if it works, then you have most certainly taken it on a joy-ride. When I heard that funny little drunk rambling about time travel in the Punch Bowl, I just had to make sure I checked that prototype once again.” Time Turner silently cursed Carnegie Porter and his big, loud mouth. Sheerluck was smiling. “But don’t worry. I have no intention of going gallivanting across all of time. I am perfectly fine here and now, thank you.” Time Turner felt himself let out an involuntary sigh of relief. Sheerluck let out a soft chuckle, the first time the Doctor had heard him even give any sort of sound relating to happiness. Why was Sheerluck suddenly so energetic and excited? It was kind of on the borderline of being disturbing. “Um… Sheerluck… Is there something… different about you today?” “Yes, my dear Time Turner. Yes. Murder is what is different today! Real, bloody, messy murder!” Sheerluck grinned like a school-foal in a candy store, practically bouncing in the cushiony train seat. “And that’s a good thing?” “Yes!” “Delightful.” They trundled on, Sheerluck yammering away excitedly to Time Turner about the five stages of decay in graphic detail. The Doctor tuned out the over-excited detective and watch as Canterlot Castle creeped out from the approaching mountain. The train made its stop on Mane Street. Judging by the excited way that Sheerluck was bouncing around, they had reached their stop. Before long, the Doctor was being partially led, partially dragged down the cobblestone street. They walked for quite some time. Sheerluck’s odd apparel and his strange manner of leading his comrade along drew in plenty of stares and gapes from high-class Canterlotian ponies. Sheerluck finally stopped (to Time Turner’s tremendous relief) before a garden, roped off by bright yellow tape and guarded by a pair of intimidating Royal Guards. The sign over the garden’s entrance read ‘The Roseluck Garden’. Time Turner immediately recognized the garden as the one that supplies his friend Rose with her flowers and herbs. The dark stone walls of the garden bore an ill-omened look, more like a dismal tomb than a colorful garden. Inside, several pots and trenches filled with a rainbow canvas of flora played across the enclosed paradise. The entirety of the garden was still wet from the morning dew, the petals of several flowers wilting dramatically. Every so often a curious and nosy Canterlotian would peek over the walls, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever curious happenings were taking place inside. Time Turner expected Sheerluck to start zooming about, studying anything and everything. Spouting whatever detective mumbo-jumbo that private investigators used on the job. Instead, he gazed about the garden with a huge grin plastered to his face. Almost like he was in love with the crime scene. Sheerluck would glance about vacantly at everything from the zinnias to the small insects buzzing about on the walls. Time Turner followed the detective as he gave a jolly noise of approval. He trotted in the direction of several Guards. Twice he paused, smiling. There were so many hoof prints in the mud on the ground from the Royal Guards that the Doctor would have been very impressed if he had gleaned any information at all from them. But Time Turner had a feeling that Sheerluck was already solving the case. That the grey unicorn was simply trying to find the right time to impress as many ponies as possible. A member of the Royal Guard, a white mare with a blond mane, approached us. She saluted Sheerluck, who merrily returned the gesture. “Lieutenant Aryanne, sir. Please to meet you, Mister Sheerluck Hooves. The Royal Guard has heard many great stories about your work with Trotland Yard. We have left everything untouched. Do what you need to, but make sure you don’t do any damage to the body sir.” Sheerluck raised an eyebrow at that remarked. The Lieutenant shrugged. “Some of those great stories were a bit shady, Mister Sheerluck Hooves, sir.” “Anywho, shady stories aside, you could have been a bit more careful with the hoof prints. It looks like a Buffalo Stampede went through here. Shameful. I could have already solved the case by now with the culprit’s hoof prints.” The blonde guard squeed as she grinned sheepishly. Sheerluck simply shook his head and gave a nicker. He then beckoned Time Turner to follow. They walked past the small wall of Guards and came across the corpse. The grim, motionless figure was that of a middle-aged Earth pony stallion. He was broad and muscular, and had the beginnings of a small wispy beard on his jaw. His eyes had clouded over as they stared blankly up into the sky. His mane and tail were dark and curly. His coat was an odd shade of yellow, his cutie mark having faded as he died. The stallion was dressed up in business wear, and a tattered top hat lay at his side. The poor fellow’s front legs were still curled up, as if ready to deal a kick to somepony. The expression still evident on the pony’s face was that of horror and maybe even hatred. A decorated Royal Guard stallion, presumably the captain, studied the body along with Sheerlock. “Where is the wound?” Sheerluck asked, beaming down at the corpse like it was that of a prize pumpkin. “There is none.” Sheerluck looked about. Time Turner made sure to do so as well. There was an awful lot of blood splashed over this one particular corner of the garden. “Then the blood is not that of the victim, but that of the culprit.” Sheerluck was muttering to himself, staring intensely at the crime scene presented before him. Sheerluck moved about the dead stallion. Sniffing his mouth and pits, feeling the chest and throat. He shot a glance at the stallion’s hooves before giving a curt nod and turning to the captain. “He hasn’t been moved at all?” “No, sir.” “Very well. He may be taken to the mortuary. Nothing else can be learned from him.” The Guards called in a stretcher and they moved the body to it, making sure to cover the face. As the four strong Guards lifted the body, a ring toppled from it, clattering to the floor. Sheerluck immediately levitated it to his face, analyzing it. “There’s been a mare here!” The captain exclaimed. “It’s a unicorn mare’s wedding ring!” Everypony but the leaving Guards stared at the ring, obviously mystified by it. “Well this complicates things.” A Guard mumbled. Sheerluck looked to the stallion with an oddly warm smile. “Quite the contrary, my friend. I believe it simplifies things. What else was in his pockets, captain?” “We have it all here," said the captain, pointing a hoof at a small pile of trinkets not too far off. "A gold watch. Gold chain, very heavy and solid. Gold ring, with masonic device. Gold pin. Leather card-case, with cards. Loose money to the extent of seven bits. Two letters - one addressed to Webber and one to Donut Joe." “Addresses?” “Equestrian Exchange, to be left till called for. They are both from Canterlot, Donut Joe operating a snack bar in-town and Webber working directly for Steampunk Industries. Both refer to a sailing trip to Great Bridleton. It is clear that this unfortunate stallion was to return to Manehattan." “Any details about this Donut Joe?” “None. He is on vacation, attending a donut festival in Fillydelphia.” “So why not pursue him then? Is that not even the least bit suspicious?” The Guard grunted in irritation while Sheerluck chuckled to himself. Sheerluck shot a glance at the bloody wall, and spotted something nopony had. He made sure to point out, that in the bloodstain by the body, the letters ‘RACHE’ had been scrawled out in rather poor handwriting. The Guards immediately began to argue about its meaning. “So messy we didn’t even notice that!” “Rache? I think I know a Rache!” “Rache? Nonsense! The full word is Rachel! It’s an actual name. See that trickle of blood? The murderer wasn’t given time to finish writing out ‘Rachel’.” “Now all we have to do is find that Miss Rachel! She’s bound to have been the one to do it!” The arguing continued while Sheerluck simply shook his head. “No no no, my dear fellows. It is not ‘Rachel’ and you will only be wasting valuable time finding this ‘Rachel’. Now, who found the body?” “Chatterbox, sir. We had her put home a while ago. She was in a terrible state, having seen such horrors.” “Address?” “46 Starswirl Road.” Sheerluck nodded curtly and gestured to Time Turner, who hadn’t spoken once this entire time. “Come along, Doctor. We have a house to visit. I will tell you one thing that may help you in the case,” he turned now to the Royal Guards who were standing at attention, “There has been a murder, and the murderer is a stallion. He is fairly tall, in the prime of life, has small hooves for his height, wore coarse, square-toed horseshoes and smokes cigars. He came here with his victim in a four-wheeled carriage, which was pulled by a cabbie who had a single brand new shoe put on, the other three being old. The murderer has a florid face and his hooves are very unkempt. These are only a few indications, but they may assist you in locating him.” The Guards looked at each other incredulously. “And how was the murder done, sir?” One curious stallion asked. "Poison," said Sheerluck Hooves curtly, and strode off. "One other thing," he added, turning round at the gate: "`Rache,' is the Germane for `revenge;' so don't lose your time looking for this ‘Miss Rachel’." With that he trotted away, with Time Turner in tow, leaving the Royal Guards open-mouthed behind him.