Sherclop Pones and the Adventure of Pinkie's Cupcakes

by A Sherlockian Brony

Chapter 17: Two Suspicions

“But how did you know that the Changelings are involved in the matter?” said I.

Pones glanced at me before he proceeded to light a cigar.

“Billy.”

“Billy?”

“Yes—at least, his narrative did. Let me explain—

“Do you recall, Watcolt, that the young lad and I had engaged upon a conversation spoken in whispers—have you ever wonder why? For Billy did not wish for Ms. Hooves to hear what he has to say for it directly concerned her.”

“What was his narrative, then?”

“As you may remember, we had sat waiting for the arrival of the Express, while I pondered on a possible explanation of my previous discoveries, Billy came into the scene and had delivered a letter in which had been addressed to me. Then, he wished to tell me his bizarre experience. It is thus—

“Billy, as you may remember, had been instructed by me to handle any letters that may be delivered during our absence. Not long after we had left him, as Billy devoured upon a muffin offered by Mrs. Hudcolt, he received one. Someone had tapped a hoof upon his back, and turning around, to his utter bewilderment, found a mailmare whom had looked so much like our client. She had the same blonde mane, grey coat, and most notably, the same condition—strabismus. The only difference is that she wore the Ponyville Delivery Service uniform, complete with the cap. Seeing her name tag, it was indeed the client! ‘D. Hooves.’

“Ms. D. Hooves, then, produced an envelope from her saddlebag and asked Billy if he was Sherclop Pones.

“Billy responds by saying that wasn’t she supposed to be with him. A look of confusion then came across her face and asked what did the lad mean by that. Billy, still thinking that the mare is our client, reminds her that she IS our client and asks why isn’t she with us. The mare asks who is this him in which the lad says Sherclop Pones

“She scratched her head as even more bewildered expression came across her face. The mare then responded by that as much as she wants to, she never met him.

“The lad was in an even greater state of confusion upon hearing those words. He thought it may be some form of a prank until a thought occurred to him—

“Had this mare who shares the same initials, and possessed the same features as that of our client might actually just been an identical twin? That would certainly explain everything—her unfamiliarity with me and her employment at the Ponyville Delivery Service. Billy, having had convinced himself that this was indeed the case, takes the envelope and asks the assumed twin who was the author, to which, to Billy’s bewilderment, Ms. Hooves knows nothing about. All that she knows that the envelope had been received from Canterlot Delivery Service, whom, in turn, received it from a pony in an official attire, instructing the letter must be immediately delivered to a certain Mr. Sherclop Pones of 221b Baker Street, which is in Canterlot, which where this letter came from.

“Despite finding this a bit odd, Billy ignored it and ran off, hoping to catch us before the latter could catch the train. To which he did.”

I then thought of the snatches of conversation in which I heard.

So much alike, sir

A twin or some sort

At Ponyville Delivery Service

This would then explain these. But something bothered me—

“Yes,” said I. “But that does not quite explain the agitation in which he had shown upon seeing Ms. Hooves for he already convinced himself of his theory—but why?”

“Her Cutie Mark, Watcolt” said Pones. “It was her Mark! He had noticed that, upon arriving, that it had consisted of the same symbol in which the mailmare had! A Mark consisting of seven bubbles varying in sizes.

“This completely contradicts Billy’s twin theory for it is impossible for two ponies, not even twins, to share the same Cutie Mark! But why, does client Ms. Hooves and mailmare Ms. Hooves do?”

I then thought of Pones mysterious parting words to the page—

quick, swear upon the fact that the mare whom you had conversed with whose Cutie Mark is identical to as to that of Ms. Hooves here!

I swear, sir.

I then had a realization.

“This makes you, then, suspect the presence of a Changeling!” said I. “For Changelings have the capability of making themselves a perfect facsimile of anything they wish! They can copy a pony’s form to the letter! Their appearance—their coat, their mane, their eyes, their voice, and even their Mark! Pones, this is remarkable!”

Pones had let out a chuckle.

“Yes, you are quite right; this had indeed brought in the possibility of a Changeling, but I was left in quite the dilemma—which is which? They both hold an equal amount of possibility—is it the mailmare or is it our client? I have no way to determine which but to continue upon the case and gather the necessary facts that shall either confirm or dismiss this theory.”

“But how did you uncover their plot?” said I.

For an answer Pones had gently placed another crumpled piece of paper upon the table. He then with the use of his hoof pushed it towards me.

“That,”

I then help it up with my remaining wing, and to my surprise, it was the same letter with the enigmatical message.

The Her Majesty State of Unicorns at Pony Parliament stake and skate come at concert to listen Mendelssohn’s Wedding March today now.

“I confess,” said I, looking up at him. “its meaning is still dark to me as ever!”

Pones then gestured for me to hand it back to him, to which I obliged. Then, after writing upon it with a pen, he handed it back to me.

“How about now?”

I uttered an exclamation of surprise. He had highlighted every third word beginning from the first. The results are thus:

TheHer Majesty State of Unicorns at Pony Parliament stake and skate come at concert to listen Mendelssohn’s Wedding March today now.

“Sweet Celestia!” said I. “Pones, it’s a message.”

“Not just a message, mind you, but a plea for help.”

“From whom?”

“From Brother Myclop,”

“But how could you tell? There’s no postmark that could indicate its origin!”

“Not so,” said Pones as he directed my attention at the paper with a hoof. “no postmark, yes, but there is distinct watermark in the paper. Have a look.”

“It’s the outline of an umbrella—” I had trailed off. Then I stared at him. “The Club—the Caballus Club—your brother’s Club—it’s its symbol—he sent this?”

Pones nodded.

“That is not the only indicator. This code” said he. “—the Gloria Scott code, is a form of communication invented by my dear brother and I back when we were still colts, so that no one else but the Pones Brothers could understand. Now, I had, then, with this begun to suspect criminal activity.”

“How?”

“Since Myclop had sent this—and had written it for himself, already spoke volumes of trouble. For Myclop would only communicate with me in this absurd fashion when he is in desperate position and desires for my help.

“But what is that position? Well, as it is clearly stated, it is this alluded ‘Wedding’ in which he does so. But whose wedding? We could only ascertain it by noting what my brother is—

“Myclop is of government employ by profession, and everything he handles is consequently political. Therefore, this ‘Wedding’ is something of political bearing. In what occasion does a wedding become political? When it is a royal one. Therefore, with this, I am able to deduce that the wedding in which he speaks of is none other than the royal wedding in which we are now bearing witness to—”

Pones said this as he pointed a hoof at the royal couple dancing gaily to the upbeat music.

“the wedding of Captain Shining Armor and Princess Mi Amore Cadenza.” He continued. “And with this, I was able to know that Myclop wished me to solve some sort of crisis in which is to occur at that wedding…as it may be driven from ‘state at stake come to wedding now.’”

“But how does this deduction reinforce your suspicion of criminal activity?”

“Consider this, Watcolt—a false case had been presented to me on the same day—on the very same day in which Myclop desires for my assistance to solve some crisis at the Royal Wedding. It had almost seemed like its sole purpose was to divert my attention away from solving it. It had begun to smell suspiciously of the foul odor of crime. But all this could just be a coincidence, after all. A prank upon me on the same day Myclop needs me. But I had no way to know but to continue upon the case and to either confirm of dismiss.