The Adventures of Sherclop Pones

by B_25

A Heart-Shaped Gem

I had to force him over to Felicia’s house. He looked uneasy all the way, and I do not doubt that he disliked his own predicament, but knew just as well as I did that he should say something to her.

His fear appeared quite strange to me. It is a most unusual thing that he fails to notice the way she looks at him. It is almost as if he has given up on women altogether, so oblivious is he. Of the ending of our adventure he refused to write, and thus I must act as my own chronicler, so as to avoid confusion for you, dear reader.

He fidgeted uncomfortably when he arrived at her door. He raised one of his brown hooves to knock on the door, but before he did so he turned to me and spoke.
“Pones, I know I am a coward before women,” he said, “And that you think me childish for it, but I will talk for myself. I do not need you to goad me from my silence.”

I smiled at the confirming glimpse of his boundless inner drive. I did mention he was not a stallion to make a mistake twice, and he was cruel to his own faults, but determined to do well nonetheless. I inquired if he would like me to stay or go, and he bade me to stay.
“It is important to me that you see that I am no coward,” he added, knocking on the door.
It opened almost instantly, and there his adoring filly friend stood.

She was beautiful, I had decided long before, in a very modern way. Once she had left her mane naturally long, but since she had become a doctor she had had it tied back. She wore no makeup or fancy robes today, barring the heart-shaped pendant that she seemed to wear everywhere, and as it was Sunday, presumably she was relaxing on her day off. She was the epitome of her own ideals – simple, yet elegant and successful. Coupled with her inspirational drive that rivalled my friend’s, I could see how she might intimidate a lesser stallion into silence. She was bossy to him and only him, but polite enough to me, and she greeted me with a cheerful smile.
“Good morning!” she said to me, and I nodded. “You,” she said to Trotson, her voice adopting a more savage tone.
“I have bought him here before you for you to forgive him, Felicia,” I said simply. She jerked her head over to me.
“And what, pray tell, is that supposed to mean?” she quipped.

Oh, how I loathe it when people force me to explain myself.

“It is simple enough to me,” I began to say, but Trotson cut me off.
“No,” he said, putting a hoof on my chest. “I said I would do the talking.”
I was somewhat taken aback. Of course it was natural to assume that he would be in a more commanding position given his previous words, but I had not expected such a change in demeanour. His eyes were fixed on her. He had consoled himself in some strange way, and his voice spoke without the hint of fragility that it had possessed when he spoke of her in the past. She looked as surprised as I did. I knew very well that she enjoyed her dramatic little effect on him, and that its sudden removal was slightly unnerving. What mare wouldn’t enjoy a stallion to toy with, after all? Cruel intentions or not, the idea was appealing to her very uninhibited nature.
“I think I owe you an apology,” he said.

It was noon of what was thus far a lovely day, but there was a tension in the air reminiscent of the depths of winter. She did not respond, just eyed him sulkily.

“Whatever for?” She said, flicking her mane back over her neck. To my surprise, Trotson lost his temper slightly. Perhaps his innermost feelings were easier to access from behind his careful veneer because he had tapped them so many times earlier that weekend. He stamped a hoof.
“Oh for Celestia’s sake!” he cried with dismay. “Will you stop sulking, or teasing me, or whatever it is you enjoy doing to me for your own amusement?”
She did as he asked, becoming more relaxed, though no doubt her change in attitude came down to her own unabated surprise at his outburst.
“I never meant to be rude or ignore you,” he began, and he spoke without pause of the things he had observed that night. His confession was most earnest and quite pitiable, but he did not stop once he had explained himself. Maybe he felt like he’d stop talking altogether if he let her get in a word edgeways, or perhaps he felt like he had some other things to explain. More often, when one is talking about difficult subjects, it is easier to point one's self down the hill and let the gravity of the conversation draw you - to take it out of your own hooves, as it were.

As the lengthy apology dragged on and on, I realised that it was taking on a tone of a different nature.

“I… never talk about things like this. Not as freely as I want to, anyway. I’m sorry I'm awful at talking to you, and talking about relationships, and... Just talking really. I think that was the reason… we never worked.” He ended his sentence fairly lamely, though he was merely consolidating his resolve. I could see it in his eyes, for he was gazing directly at her – something he would usually not have dared do if he was to speak so solidly. “...And, I don’t know exactly what you expected from me after knowing me for all these years, but I thought you… might be still be interested in me.” His voice lost a slight of its edge, and I saw his shoulders relax a little bit. He’d clearly given into her.
“Ah, the mistakes I make,” he said reflectively. “For me not to have seen that you were merely playing me for your own entertainment twice, now. Though mercifully for me, I caught onto your game a day later, and not months.”
Felicia looked deeply hurt, but she tried not to show it. I saw the twitch of her frown briefly before it vanished underneath a coat of indignance.
“Hah! Easy for you to say!” she said. “You were the one that never wanted to talk about us. You were always so damn concerned for your own appearances and your stupid studies.” She shook her head in despair. “It was always 'Lifeglow this, Lifeglow that', and you never wanted to focus on me! I was just your token filly, wasn’t I? You were the one playing me!”
My companion reeled.
“Rubbish!” He replied angrily, perhaps more loudly then the situation warranted. She flinched a little under his gaze. “You know that I couldn’t.”
“And why not? You had your pick of the lot Mr. Perfect,” she sneered. “And you never had to worry constantly about whether or not he was busy looking up other fillies’ skirts or getting with them at gatherings, or—”
“I’d never do that!” he shouted at her.
Felicia looked at him as if he had slapped her.

It seems I was wrong about Trotson on two consecutive occasions.

I know what I said before. I haven't been wrong for a long time. I am, on occasion, wrong, as is anypony else, of course, but... Twice in one day?

I was wrong about his physical capacity, and now, thanks to this newfound surge of heart, his emotional capcity. I had never heard him even so much as speak angrily, so timid was he, and yet here he was, tipping the scales of his own very quiet nature.

He struggled to summon up the courage to speak again. I could tell that he was being torn apart with every word, and he had to force himself to stand there and fight her.
"I couldn’t,” he said quietly. “You’re the only one I could ever find lovely.”
She did not return a blow at this compliment.
“I... I just thought I might linger on your mind like you played on mine," he continued. "And yes, you did, and still do. And clearly I do not. I still feel like the most stupid foal for telling you as much, even though it’s the second time I’ve said it to you, but I need to say it now, before I scare myself quiet. I came here to apologise to you, but there was something bigger on my mind.” The briefest flash of a grimace passed over his features. “I can’t let history repeat itself.”
He looked away from her. I could tell the pain was too great for him, and that he was losing the struggle. Such was the expression in his so utterly vivid blue eyes that I felt pity for him.
“Again, I don’t know what you ever wanted from me. Whenever I make a mistake, you back off and treat me so coldly. But as 'perfect' as I am, I can assure you that I know nothing about love other than that you are supposed to show it, and you have never shown it. You are quite happy to lead me cluelessly, every step of the way, but you will not tell me what you want me to say or do, and you will not show me it, only tease me." He winced slightly, though he was wounded far more deeply. “Tease me, just forever out of my reach, and always determined to keep me out of your life, even after I saved it.”

I did not know what his last words meant at the time. Their significance would become known to me when I read of Trotson’s testimonial in the library. It was easy to see why he was upset.
“What are you saying?” Felicia said, and I could hear hoarseness in her voice. She looked miserable. He looked resolute. I felt horribly out of place.
“I am saying that I give up,” he said simply. “I have nothing. I... I have no knowledge left of what to do. I never had any. I can’t continue to walk along blindly, for fear of making you unhappy as I did yesterday, regardless of my intentions. I love you, and you will not even so much as show me it. So take my heart. You win.”

And with that, he turned and left, trotting away as swiftly as he could. For once, I found myself following in his shadow. An unpleasant lump had developed in my throat, and I felt certain that some great history had swept me by. It was not often that I was left in the dark by lack of prior research, though Trotson had never spoke of his childhood or his past, and she had never told me of hers either. The fact that they were 'old friends' should have tipped me off then and there, but alas, I did not see that conclusion for what it was at the time. My mind was more on the curious actions of Trotson. He had come to apologise, and had done a good deal of accusing instead.

We had scarcely reached the gate when I heard the galloping of hooves behind me. I turned to see what it was, and was unceremoniously bowled over by something, hurtling into the garden.

It took me some time to extricate myself from the greenery, plucking my cap gingerly from a clump of thorny roses, but when I did I was met with the most strange and happy sight I’d seen in years.

She was angry. Whether she was more upset with herself or my companion, I could not say, but tears were streaming down her perfectly white face. She hit him in the chest once or twice, and, as I removed a few thorns from my neck and hoof, I came to hear that she had been speaking for some time.
“…And I’ve been trying to show it somehow, but I couldn’t! I just couldn’t, not after what happened… I cared for you, but I didn’t want to scare you! You never told me that you loved me, and so I was never sure… but I don’t care now!” Her hooves thudded into him. The blows were not malicious. She was frustrated, and needed a way to vent. Her voice began to shake as she continued. “You never said you loved me. Not as a foal, not in medical school, where every other filly had their eyes on you. I was so afraid of losing you, I just forgot. I thought you forgot... I thought you might have forgotten about me... Or that you might not have l… Lo...” I saw those pale grey opal eyes screwed as tightly shut as was physically possible. Clearly, finishing the sentence was too much for her.

My companion had been forced onto his back haunches by her assault, and there he sat for a while, surveying her with those sad, intense pools of blue.
“Never,” he said after a while. "I could never forget you."

Such an odd whirlpool of emotions in once face. She was still crying, clearly upset, yet exhilarated and happy - she hugged him tightly. It did not appear to bring my companion much pain. He was oblivious to his own reality, her sudden outburst causing him to look down at her, mouth slightly ajar in shock.

And then, she kissed him.

It would not be an event worthwhile of paying attention to, for it was not my business – and indeed, I would not have noticed it at all were it not for Trotson’s previous shyness in such matters. I could not imagine at the time what had brought him so close to Redheart, but as I write this, the intricacies are known to me, so I shall describe it as best I can in the hopes that you might gain some understanding of their love.

Initially, it was a hesitant thing. She reached up to him, and pecked him on the lips once, retreated about an inch, and then returned again almost instantly. The brief moment in which she was uncertain was overruled by her passion for him. Clearly, it did not take her long to connect the dots that had clued me in to his acceptance long ago.

But, perhaps she already knew that. Perhaps there was a meaning lost even to me.

As an outsider to their past lives, I could not speak for the emotional entanglement into which the two of them fell, but it must have been of the deepest and most burning love, for the way she kissed him was unparalleled by any kiss, acted or otherwise, that I had seen before. She loved him so fervently and fiercely that one might have thought she had very nearly lost him forever. She very nearly had. She had to stand on the tip of her hooves, and hug him around the neck to hold her weight, but she didn’t seem to mind, and neither did he. Trotson wasn’t even surprised. His stern face had softened into a look of resigned happiness, and he kissed her back. I saw a wash of relief flood over both of them, and I silently blessed the magical moment when two sweethearts finally figure out they love the other. My companion's shoulders slumped, and she pushed even harder. His quiet acceptance, or rather his lack of resistance, was more than she would ever need. Both of their eyes were closed.

It was at that point that I took my leave, returning to the station and boardind the next train to Canterlot. The scene was touching, and I was sad to go, but for once it was no business of mine. It was simply the strange zeal of their sudden love that kept me there for as long as I have recorded, and indeed, it warmed the depths of my heart to see that Trotson had finally laid his hooves on his beloved. How strange that it had come so close to tragedy - all because two ponies were so timid of each-other's affection. Nevertheless, I smiled at the thought that it, like my assignment, was very much over.

I did not see Trotson until the following day. I had retired to my preferred armchair in the study once more, and he walked through the door without knocking.
“I have left your share of the money upon the dressing-table in your room, friend Trotson. The jewels were found in Riesling's cellar, and he has been jailed for an exceptionally long time.” I looked up from the book I was reading. “Tell me, have you ever heard of the strange plant known better as Poison Joke?”

He admitted that he had not, though the way he looked at me from the door told me that something else was on his mind. He had about his features a strange and infectious grin, and he had brightened somewhat. He was still the quiet soul that I had known him, but he now had enthusiasm and zest for life that is not wholly uncommon in those that have recently come upon something fortuitous.
“Well,” I said after a while. “I find it strange enough that you would do so, but it is not my place to question such matters.”
“Pardon?” Said he, not fully understanding.
I got up and walked over to him, reaching into his jacket pocket and withdrawing the lump that I had seen. It was a small, red velvet box, and I twirled it before his eyes.
“I did detect some strange history to you two, though I must confess I know little of it.”

He nodded in his usual solemn manner, his clever plan having been revealed. For a while he simply stood and said nothing. I disliked it when he did that. Trotson must have known this, for he broke into a little grin as I continued to stare at him.
“I will share the story with you, now that that problem has been dealt with,” he said, brushing past me and taking a seat in one of the two armchairs next to the fire. I resumed my seat, and he told me about his extremely long and strenuous past - in more particular detail, the events that had facilitated his long-held love for Felicia, including that vicious assault.

“Well, that clears up a mystery or two,” I said as he finished. "For one, how you came to know her so well, and two, why you have jumped to that so quickly."
He nodded, and together we sat and drank a little from the crystal
“And will you include it in the book you are writing?” I inquired, gesturing to the red box that I had lain on the table. He smiled slightly, and reached over before pocketing it once more.
“I may,” he said. “I must appear such a fool to you. I cannot imagine ever explaining it to another."
I laughed at that. "Old boy, you could not have come off as less of a fool. But you have benefited for it, and learnt a valuable lesson in the process."
He sighed. "It is a hard enough love to explain, and I am not sure if I could explain it in writing, though I understand it better myself now.”
“You had best understand it!” I said incredulously. “You and her go so well together that I wouldn’t doubt you the better for it. Both of you were so worried about the other, you couldn't see the forest for the trees!"
"Yes, well.." My companion grumbled. I realised that I had put him down, and apologised.
"I didn't mean that in a bad way. I'm pleased you both worked out that you loved each-other."
I put down my glass on the hand-table.
"But it is for life, you know.”
He grinned. It was the first time I had seen him do so.
“I am quite sure,” he

We paused for a moment, and he mulled over his drink a little. I broke the silence.
“Only the element of generosity would have given you such a thing!” I said vaguely.
“She did not give it to me, she showed it to her, and then gave it to me.”
He must have picked up on my incredulousness, for he raised an eyebrow.
“You are surprised by Rarity?” He said.
“Not at all. Aside from that titbit of information, I know all too well that she has a penchant for drama, and is hopelessly convinced in true romance. But, all the same,” I said, gesturing to the ring box in his pocket. “One would imagine that the surprise would have been worth keeping quiet about.”
“Well, she wanted to run it by Redheart first. Not that it would have mattered, of course. Do you think that Rarity would be able to keep a secret that big?” I smirked. He was correct. “And besides," he continued, "She was as much involved in Felicia’s own worries as I was.”
“How so?”
Trotson grinned.
“Rarity told me that they were old friends. Remember when you so carelessly pushed me up the stairs? That was the day I found out.”
“I see - but steady on, now. That was Lestrade doing the pushing, not I.”
“You were a consenting party.”
“I said nothing.”
“Last I checked, ignorance was not a valid legal defence.”
“And you are not a lawyer.”
Trotson sniffed.
“You speak as if you are jealous,” he said impetuously. I laughed.
“How so, sir, how so!”

He gave no answer, but merely grinned and returned to the topic of Rarity.
“An old, old, friend, Pones. Old money seems to create two kinds of people -- those who are snobs, and those who are not, and more often those who are not have a hard time fitting in with those who are. Rarity, as I'm sure you know, happens to be a member of the Canterlot Aristocracy. In this way, she's known Felicia for a few years now."
"Indeed, I know as much," I replied, nodding. "By the way, have you seen her latest catalog?"
My companion looked a little surprised.
"No, what of it?"
I reached into my pocket, withdrawing the white paper envelope that it was contained within.
"She sent me a copy. She thought you might like to read it, after all. She mentioned something about a gift."
Trotson pulled out the small book that was inside the envelope and opened it.
"Another gift?..." He murmured. His eyes ran over the first few pages before he saw what I spoke of. He laughed and looked back up at me, an incredulous smile on his features.
"You cannot be serious?" He said, half-questioningly.
"Read it aloud," said I, and he obliged me.

"...I saw that he disliked stuffy people, stuffy houses, stuffy societies. The clothes he wore said much about him. Discrete, intelligent, rational. Though he spoke softly and walked with the footstep of the hunter, he was no seeker of game-fowl, and the cap he wore seemed to fit him immaculately as he scrutinized the scene of the crime, one hoof over his chin. The Private Eye. An outdoors-pony's cap, suited for the adventurer and the urban soul. Drop-down flaps protect your ears if you so please, while the fore and aft brims shield your eyes from that glaring autumnal sun, so that you might catch sight of your prey. Practical. Comfortable. Hardly Criminal. 100% Cloplin Wool. Colour: houndstooth."

I could not help but feel oddly fond of Rarity's description. Though it was merely for the sake of selling clothes... I took some small delight from it. Trotson guessed at my hidden pleasure, though it must have been a bluff, for I had not shown any hint of it.
"Quite accurate, if you ask me," he said thoughtfully as he gazed at me intently.
"And what of yours?'
He looked pleasantly surprised, and looked back down to the brown paper catalog in his hooves.
"Oh? There is one for me? That is strange, for I did not see any 'Doctor' here."
I shook my head.
"You were not so much of a doctor on this particular outing," I said, watching intently as his eyes caught hold of his own description. I was keen to see his reaction, after all.

Trotson took a deep breath and began to read.

"Modeled after a naval officer's greatcoat, it was a long and dashing thing. It fitted his quiet and gentlemanly temperament. The sleek, slimming profile it cast over him promptss a host of romantic scenes. Fond farewells when he leaves his sweetheart at Canterlot Station, sprinting alongside the train. The quiet moment during his work in far-away places, where he turns up his collar before reading her letters. The joyful reunion when he reappears by the alley gate. The Gentlepony's Overcoat. Made of 95% wool. Leather buttons, whipstitched notched collar. Double-breasted sixbutton front. Calf-length. Buttoning epaulettes at shoudlers. back belt with two buttons. Fully lined. Two interior pockets at chest for safeguarding what is most dear to him - on the left, his heart, and on the right, a photo of the mare who it belongs to. Wearing one fills you with warmth; like a goodbye kiss from your special someone that lasts a little too long. Stallion's sizes: 38 through 48, colours: grey, black..."

He winced as he finished reading it, and that gave away his surprise and slight embarrassment. I saw his jaw move slightly, and he was no doubt about to utter some kind of dismissive thought, but he gave up before he had begun. Instead, he quickly stowed the paper book back into the envelope and tossed it to me.
"It's not bad," he said quickly. "Clearly, bits of that were from recent memory."
I took his conceded tone as a confirmation of my thoughts. It often gave me great humour to watch Trotson flummoxed by his shyness, though on this occasion it seemed he had resigned to his own shortcomings.

"...The stone is a fragment of the diamond that Riesling stole, you see," he said, continuing the conversation we had began earlier. "Rarity made an excuse about how the original looked fashionable after it had been cut from, and that her client wouldn't know - but I think she might have cut a piece of the diamond and paid for it herself."
“Ah! How generous of her," I remarked. "And indeed, your heart is as of great in size as the animal that inspired it." I spotted another flash of his old embarrassment at my compliment. “Cut in the shape of a white heart, no doubt?” I added, expectantly.
“Indeed.”
I sighed a little. Such a cliche I could only expect from him. And her, too. Redheart; white coat; diamond heart - it was so utterly fairy-tale-esque that he might as well have proposed to her wearing a set of shining armour. He looked at me with a curious blend of his own happiness, and suspicion.
"You are jealous, aren't you?" he said.
“I could no sooner be jealous of you then Riesling,” I replied drolly. "She is wealthy, and you are happy."
"How facetious!" He stated. "You know all too well that I care not for her wealth. I think you crave a good woman!"

That much was true. My enjoyment of women was more of a vivid engagement of my mind then anything else. Often, they were the hardest to guess or judge. But I was not about to concede another point to Trotson, and so I continued to entertain him.
"Even so, I am not jealous."
“Oh, come now Pones!" Trotson said, shooting me a dirty look. "I was only teasing. I have no doubt that you are not jealous. If she was your wife, she would poison your coffee.”
“If I was her husband, I would probably drink it,” I replied, before draining the last of my glass. Trotson snorted into his drink with mirth.
“So did she say yes, then?”
He looked over at me, staring at me intently with those very blue eyes of his.
“What do you think?”
“I think you've bruised a little; just around your neck where she hugged you." I said, pointing out what I had seen earlier. He did not reply, but smiled, and loosening the collar of his coat where it pained him, staring into the centre of the crackling fireplace, and thinking over his own happiness with his glass in one hoof.
"So she took your heart after all, it seems," I added thoughtfully.

It took a moment for him to work out what I meant. His warm grin broadened.
“The wedding is in December. I shall expect you to be present.”
“I would not dream of missing it,” I said quite happily.

Comments

At first i was like

while i was

and

while

WOW that was a good one.

[PrinceLexmarkThePrinted]

IN-CRE-DI-BLE!

This is fantastic. I can't help but grin like an idiot to your story. Beautiful!

[writer]

63749
that's the goal
grinning like an idiot is what this show does to me, so that's about the best level of praise i can get

[Banksyt]

I cannot express in words how AWESOME this fic is...my mouth aches..
I truly hope you intend to write a different mystery...

[FuryoftheStorm]

Another great chapter! However, I noticed one big error:
"I have left your share of the money upon the dressing-table in your room, friend Watson."