Sherclop Pones and the Adventure of Pinkie's Cupcakes

by A Sherlockian Brony

Chapter 11: The Catch

“Dr. Watcolt,” said the masculine voice. “Dr. Watcolt, sir.”

I felt something tugging at my right sleeve. I then opened my eyes and found the clean-shaven face of the inn’s porter. “Wake up, sir!” said he.

I then sat up and rubbed my eyes. “What seems to be the matter?” said I.

The porter bowed. “Very sorry to knock you up, Doctor,” said he apologetically. “but I had orders from to do so at this precise moment.”

I glanced at my watch, but it was missing. Seeing this, the porter had answered the question (or rather the question I was about to put) that it was eleven minutes past eight.

“But why at this precise moment?” said I.

The porter shrugged his shoulders. “Dunno, sir,” said he, pursing his lips. “maybe you should put that question to Mr. Pones for he was the one who gave this order.”

I looked at where I had seen Pones. The chair was empty.

“Where has he gone?” said I, standing up and glancing round the room and finding his bed unslept and empty. I then confronted the porter. “Did he mention where perhaps?”

The porter shook his head. “I am sorry, sir, but he did not. But he did tell me to give you this—”

He then produced from his pocket a piece of paper. I then took and was surprised by its contents. It was a note written by Pones! It ran thus:

Deliver letter to young Trotkins. It is of the utmost importance for you to act immediately.

As an answer to my looks, the porter had handed me another letter, to which I knew immediately what it was. Upon reading it, I had let out an exclamation of surprise. In an instant, I had dressed up, and had ran from the inn to the police station in a similar fashion as to what I did the previous day.

Upon reaching there, I found Inspector Gregcolt (whom had been involved in some of my friend’s cases) seated at his desk and had demanded for Trotkins.

“Oh,” said the obese detective indifferently. “You’re in luck, Dr. Watcolt—the youngster had been claiming for the entire day yesterday that he is hot upon a scent and had been here since. Though, quite frankly, I don’t quite believe it! If there was actually a devious criminal such as he depicts in his absurd warrant of his running about in such a place as Ponyville, the entire branch would be conscious of it, would we not? Do you wish for me to call him? TROTKINS!”

With this, the young Stanley Trotkins had come out from the room and came to me attentively.

“What is the matter, Doctor?”

I then handed the letter and we read it together.

Am about to be murdered at Sugarcube Corner. Use the signed warrant to arrest her.

Upon reading it twice, we exchanged looks. Then, in a frantic fashion, he attained the warrant from his desk, placed on an official attire while I, leaving him to this, had already begun galloping towards the direction of the ominous Sugarcube Corner: ignoring the calls of Gregcolt.

“Pones!” I cried as the bakery came into view, with the young official struggling behind me. I could see the electric lights in the shop illuminate its interior, whilst the dark silhouette was rendered even more foreboding by the morning sun rising behind it and thus casting a shadow. Having arrived upon the doorstep, I had intended to kick the locked door myself, but I chanced to lay my eyes upon an object which refrained me from doing so—it was a torn page with absurd hieroglyphics written upon it. It had consisted of various symbols of what appeared to be smiling faces.

“What’s happened, Doctor?” said Stanley Trotkins, standing beside me as I examined the message posted on the hinges of the door.

“What on Equestria does this mean?” cried the official, placing a hoof to his forehead. I must confess, that I was too, confused as the meaning of this hieroglyphics. But then, a thought occurred to me.

“It’s a code!” I cried, taking the paper.

“What!”

“I remember—the Adventure of the Smiling Faces! Yes, yes, of course! Pones, you clever, clever fellow.”

“You can read it—how?”

I then gave Trotkins a quick summary of the Adventure of the Smiling Faces, where Pones and I deciphered the code of the Smiling Faces, where each symbol represented a letter. If my memory serves, my friend deciphered its meaning by searching for the most common symbol and assumed it to be the letter “e,” for “e” is the most common letter of the alphabet. He then searched for the most probable word that contained “e” which eventually led him to the discovery of the meaning of the code, and what each symbol represented.

Remembering what Pones wrote to decipher the Smiling Faces, I endeavored to decipher the message presented to us on that faithful day.

I had deciphered every symbol until I had reached the following results:

THE GREEN CIRCULAR CARPET

Having done this as Trotkins stood beside me, I then, without hesitation to do so, kicked the door open. My eyes instantly fell upon the green circular carpet to which my friend desired to concentrate our attention upon. I fell upon the floorboards on my knees, and proceeded to unfold it: paying little heed to the gathering crowd outside, which had been peering in curiously as we teared down the shop. What I discovered, after doings so, was the most bizarre thing I have had ever seen—

It was a wooden door.

Everything at that precise moment everything had been cleared out before me. It did not take to share intellectual powers of my friend to deduce the true meaning of affairs—

1) Rainbow Dash, was late for an appointment in which she had set with Pinkie Pie at Sugarcube Corner. This would then explain the former's hurried manner in which Ms. Hooves had noted during her narrative. What was that appointment for? Obviously: baking, for that would explain the materials in order to do so which the client had observed upon the counter.

2) Ms. Dash was, then, drugged by a soporific sedative disguised in a dish. Upon taking a bite, she had fell instantly a victim. Hence the bitten cupcakes and the bottle of Sleepy Drops.

3) Ms. Pie then proceeded to take her to a basement, but was interrupted by the sudden intrusion of our client, who, in turn, however, was unable, due to her condition, to get a full image of Ms. Pie in the process of entering the basement along with her victim. Hence Ms. Hooves mistaking to see Pinkie Pie blending into the floorboards, and Ms. Pie’s actions to conceal her crime: that is, slamming door shut.

4) There, Ms. Pie did her way with Ms. Dash. Which could only mean murder, for that would explain her prolonged absence.

5) This method of committing murder she had applied it upon Ms. Hooves, hence her prolonged absence. Which would explain the uncanny similarities between Ms. Pie's queer actions the previous day when the client had been last seen and of Ms. Dash’s last sight. But for what motive? For silencing the only witness of her crime.

6) She had not only preserved this method to that of Rainbow Dash and Derpy Hooves, but had also to my friend in order to silence the last pony who could know her secret.

“I don’t believe it!” said Stanley Trotkins as I fully unfolded the carpet, thus revealing the entrance to a hidden basement. I then tried to open it, but it had been locked from the inside. Then, with the assistance of the inspector, we had successfully forced our way in and broke the wooden door. Doing so had revealed a flight of stairs—stairs in which led to darkness. I looked at Trotkins, whom had seemed to understand perfectly on what to do. But before we could descend upon the stairs, Gregcolt, followed by two police constables, entered the shop behind us.

“Oi, what’s going on here?” said he, approaching us as he gave orders to the two constables to fend off the gathering crowd. But the persistence of their curiosity had overcome the them and entered the shop. Gregcolt then turned to them, and with his bullying voice, commanded them to back off. Leaving him to this, Trotkins and I took this opportunity to enter the basement.

“Pones!” I cried as darkness drowned my vision. I had eventually, as it seemed, reached the bottom: with my hoof clopping upon it and resonating across the basement. Trotkins’ hooves soon followed. I then, like a bat in the night, navigated my way blindly calling my friend’s name as I do so.

Then, I heard something that had sent down a chill down my spine—

It was a laugh—a feminine laugh! I had immediately recognized to whom did it belong to.

“Star Swirl’s beard!” cried Trotkins. “What was that?”

I then heard the rattle of chains and the sound of great restraint. A cry followed it. “Watcolt!” said it. “Watcolt, get these bounds off me!”

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” said the familiar high-pitched feminine voice. “we’ve still won!”

“Pones!”

We then ran towards the direction of the voice.

I then heard what sounded like the flick of an electric switch. What followed was a bright white light illuminating the entirety of the basement. So bright it was that I might as well have been blinded by its luminous ferocity.

When vision had cleared, I had found my friend—Sherclop Pones bounded against his will on what appears to be some sort of wooden rack: his eyes full of devastation; and right next to him was Pinkie Pie raising a knife to his throat. I stood petrified upon the sight. She had turned to my direction, whence she flung the weapon at me. I heard the knife whisk past my head by inches. Turning around, I found it struck against the wall behind me.

“Watcolt!” cried Pones as he continued struggling in his bounds.

I then spun back round and found, to my surprise, the pink mare had been nowhere to be seen. Trotkins seemed equally confused. I looked round me, worrying where could she strike next. My eyes then rested upon the wall in which the knife had struck—it was missing.

“Never mind her, Watcolt!” cried my friend. “quick, release me before it’s too late! Oh, what have I done?”

I then looked round me and found a tray of knives upon a small wooden coffee table. I took one of them.

“Sweet Celestia, Pones!” I cried as I attempted to break the chains with one of the knives. “What on E—”

“Hark!” cried the voice of Trotkins. “Doctor, behind you!”

I heard the swift galloping of hooves.

I spun round and found Pinkie Pie with the missing knife in hand pouncing upon me, with murder being read in her sky-blue eyes. With the agility in which I had gained through the days of my Wonderbolt service I had used the only weapon within my grasp (that being the knife in which I had tried to liberate Pones with) and used it to outmaneuver the murderous mare, and had, with the use of my medical knowledge, targeted where it shall be assured to disable her, striking the tendon of her left hind-hoof. I had done this almost unconsciously. I heard the mare scream in agony as she dropped onto the ground with a harsh thud.

I had no time to admire my work for I heard what seemed to sound like the breaking of chains and the snapping of wood. I spun round and found Sherclop Pones, accompanied by Stanley Trotkins.

“Pones—”

He had not let me finish my sentence for he grabbed my hoof, and led me to direction of the neutralized mare, while Trotkins produced a pair cuffs from his saddlebag. He approached the downed mare as he recited his lines—

“Pinkamena Diane Pie, I hold a warrant for your arrest on the charge of—Sweet Celestia!" There was a cold shock from that utterance. "What on—”

“Quick!" cried Pones, his eyes lavished with lustful determination. "I had almost got the entire thing out from it—ha! So it is! look!”

He had pointed a long thing hoof at the direction of Pinkie Pie.

I had expected to find a pink mare: a baker, a vile murderer writhing in agony before us; but it was something else—something much more horrifying—something that voyaged beyond the realms of one’s imagination.

What had been once the hot-pink form of Pinkamena Diane Pie, was now of a midnight black. Upon a closer inspection, I had noted that, whatever was the thing before us, it had no longer been covered by a fur coat, but rather what seemed like some sort of shell of a bug. I may add, in fact, that the creature bore very little resemblance to an actual equine but that more of a beetle and a fly. Its eyes were that of the latter—dichoptic: giving the feeling of unnerving discomfort. It had the horn and wings of a rhinoceros beetle, complete with a rounded convex back that seemed to house its wings. It appeared to carnivorous, for it had the teeth of a vicious cat. Its hooves were sporadically punctured with holes in random order. So many were they that if one were to lay his eyes upon such a fiend, doing so would trigger one’s trypophobia.

I was at a loss of words on what to say, but it was Pones who took the initiative.

“Now, look here,” said he kneeling down. “what is the Queen’s exterior source? Speak up!”

The creature had looked at both each of us with its vindictive fly-like eyes.

“Like I would ever tell you!” it drawled with a very distinct rasp of a masculine voice. It thus spat at Pones.

Pones, took this as an insult, and so proceeded to plunge the knife deeper into the creature’s tendons, whence it, in turn, had let out a jittery wail.

“I need a name, you see, if I am to prevent it,” said he with ice. “Now, what is the name of the exterior help?” Pones then took the knife out of the fiend’s hoof and proceeded to threaten to plunge it into its heart.

The creature, in turn, hissed upon the sight of it, and revealed a forked tongue. But it had read the danger in my friend’s eyes and realized that the latter had absolutely meant it. Then, as it flinched in fear, it finally gave in.

“The Professor.”

Comments

[Glaceon1805]

11317185

What had been once the hot-pink form of Pinkamena Diane Pie, was now, as it seemed, of a midnight black. Upon a closer inspection, I had noted that, whatever was the thing before us, it had no longer been covered by a fur coat, but rather what seemed like some sort of shell of a bug. I may add, in fact, that the creature bore very little resemblance to an actual equine but that more of a beetle and a fly

Its eyes were that of a fly’s—dichoptic eyes give the feeling of unnerving discomfort. It had the horn and wings of a rhinoceros, complete with a rounded convex back, that seemed to house its wings.

It appeared to carnivorous, for it had the teeth of a vicious cat. Its hooves were poked with holes. So many were they that if one were to lay his eyes upon such a fiend, doing so would trigger one’s trypophobia.

These suggest a lot...is Pinkie a Changeling? Quite the twist!

“ The Professor.”

I haven't read the original Sherlock stories, but I heard that Moriarty was some kind of Professor. Is he somehow behind this? Cool!

[Beatlebrony]

The reveal is a good one at best...looking forward on how the story goes and perhaps an explanation on how you foreshadowed the twist...and one on how could Moriarty fit into the plot.

[1st Duke of Wellington]

A rather delightful twist, good sir! And with what seems to be the addition of a ponified James Moriarty in it, I shall watch the story's progress from here with an even greater amount of interest

[A Sherlockian Brony]

11317189
Be assured of the latter...as well as the former. And thanks!

[giransintern]

YES!! I WAS RIGHT!! I WAS ON THE RIGHT TRACK!!! 😭😭😭

[Slamp5000XL-3-0]

Bueno era una cambiante ya lo pensaba cuando Watson noto su cambio de ojos