Sherclop Pones and the Adventure of Pinkie's Cupcakes

by A Sherlockian Brony

Chapter 8: Pinkie Pie

We had eventually lost track of the Pegasus. We had searched everywhere, but to no result. It was only at the town's square we had ascertained the direction in which she had went. We had questioned the zebra (to which I had previously noted) where could Sugarcube Corner be, to which she, in a rather curious form of dialogue spoken completely in rhymes in a rather curious accent, directed us to a building in which had seemed to be built of entirely out of confections. We thanked her and then resumed the chase.

We then hurriedly galloped towards the odd structure. Once we were upon its doorstep (which was lined with candy canes) Pones rasped upon the door.

“Ms. Hooves!” he cried. There was no reply. Pones then called again, and again, each attempt with no reply. Commanding me to stand back, he kicked the door open and went in. He then motioned for me to come in.

The interior of Sugarcube Corner, to which the majority of my readers may be already familiar with, bears resemblance to more of an actual shop, as contrast to its flamboyant exterior. As I entered the shop, I stood upon the welcoming mat, and admired its interior, while my nose slightly tingled for the state of the shop was rather dusty. So dusty was its state that impressed me as if the shop was left untended to for quite some time. I will now proceed to give a brief description of it—

Upon entering, you will find yourself, as I have already previously remarked, standing upon a green rectangular welcome mat; to your right there is a wooden counter with a shelf used for showcasing sweets; to your left is a wooden staircase leading to the second floor; and straight ahead is another staircase.

The floorboards were relatively made out of wood. It is of the paramount importance to mention that these floorboards during this affair, I had observed to be remarkably dusty. Amongst the dusty floorboards, there could be found, marked upon them, a track of hoof-prints.

I traced where it had originated and found out they came from the door. Then, I traced where it led—

Doing so had led me to a half-consumed cupcake, and beside it was a folded carpet—a folded green circular carpet; and right next it was a mare with a blush-pink coat and curly mane and tail of hot pink, staring at us with a pair of defiant eyes of sky-blue.

We had caught Pinkie Pie so off-guard that she flinched at the sight of us, and fell upon her back.

“Ah!” she exclaimed creating a loud thud in which had sounded like a door slamming shut.

I then naturally endeavored to assist her, but Pinkie Pie had refrained me from doing so with claw-like hoof threatening to strike at me

“Get back!” the mare snarled viciously. “get back, I say!”

Pinkie Pie then proceeded to swiftly unfold the green circular carpet. So swift was she that it was just a pink blur.

“Oh,” said she as she realized whom she is addressing to. “Sherclop Pones!”

She then collected herself and faced us with a bright smile upon her face in an almost comical fashion. Pinkie Pie’s smile grew even wider, though I could sense that it was out of nervousness she did so.

Sherclop Pones’ expression had been an amused one when we first entered, but it had changed into an urgent dread dramatically when the pink mare addressed him. Despite this, he gave a friendly smile.

He tipped his hat.

“Ms. Pinkamena Diane Pie” said he with a drawled emphasis of the name.

“What brings you here?” said Ms. Pie as she stood upon the centre of the carpet, looking at either of us with a nervous gaze.

Pones eyed her keenly.

“I’ve come upon the plead of my client, Ms. Derpy Hooves, to solve the disappearance of your friend Rainbow Dash—" he gave a brief pause for dramatic effect. "Perhaps, Ms. Pie, you yourself may know something of the matter that may greatly assist me and my dear associate—the good Doctor here—upon our investigations?"

“Rainbow Dash?" said Pinkie Pie, glancing swiftly below her. "Haven’t seen her all day!”

Pones’ gaze followed that of the baker’s, and rested upon the green circular carpet that covered a huge portion of the floorboards of the shop. He stared at it for quite some time with a clouded expression. Then he smiled. “I know you haven’t.” said he at last as slowly approaches the mare. “But what about Derpy Hooves? She had been last seen entering here.”

Pinkie Pie then hurriedly picks up the bitten cupcake and proceeded to smash it into atoms, with some its residue splatting upon my face.

“I don’t know about her either!” said she, heading to the counter.

There were various materials used in baking upon the counter—there was a ceramic bowl with an eggbeater in it; a tray of eggs; a metallic molder; a sack of flour—and all that one uses when baking. There is, however, one stood out amongst these materials upon Ms. Pie’s counter—it was a small phial of Sleep Drops—the famous sedative used by the insomniac. I thought of it to be quite queer for a soporific sedative to placed so near to baking materials. I was about to point this out to her, but Pinkie Pie then proceeded to grab the bottle and had attempted to place it in her saddlebag, but had dropped it out of her haste. It then fell upon the floorboards with a sharp clink. The bottle then rolled and rolled until it hit my friend’s hoof. He then picked it up and examined it.

“No, don’t!” cried the pink mare, extending a hoof as if to retrieve it despite being a few meters away. “don’t!”

Having thoroughly examined the bottle, he handed it back to her. He then let out a laugh.

“Oh, do forgive my amusement.” said Sherclop Pones, wiping his tears. “it is really an extraordinary case. I confess that I have seldom come across one that posed more unique traits such as this. Indeed, it is new in the annals of crime. I look forward in doing future business with you, Ms. Pie.” He paused. Pones' smile had vanished from his face as quick as it came. He looked at the mare with a fixated gaze. Then, in a voice void of his usual tranquility, he said:

"Ms. Pie, would you be so kind to tell me the exact amount of sprinkles in which you had sold to my dear landlady, Mrs. Hudcolt?”

This queer question had seemed to have a drastic effect upon Pinkie Pie, for she was quite unable to answer it, claiming that she had never chatted with anyone of that name, nor sold any sprinkles. Pones nodded, with a beaming expression that, with my experiences of my acquaintance with the great sleuth, I had learned to associate that he was quite satisfied with his inquiries. But that expression of satisfaction had quickly disappeared from his aquiline face.

His grey eyes had fixated themselves intently upon the dusty sacks that littered every single inch of the shop. I trust that readers may forgive my omission to mention that upon our entrance, I had observed that dozens of dusty—extremely dusty sacks of flour littered every single square inch of the shop. It was only during the aftermath when the urgency of pursuing are elusive client had drained off that I had only began to appreciate our surroundings.

The twinkle his eyes still remained, but his features contorted into an expression when one makes when he foresees an impending danger. Pones then took out his lens and took the liberty to examine the dusty sacks with a worrisome expression written upon his face. So dusty were they that upon examining them, he actually had let out a sneeze. 1Without so much of a warning, he darted across from room to room, beating the walls of the shop with his hoof as he does so, thus creating such a ruckus that had resonated across the entire place.

“Pones!” I retorted.

But he had heeded not to my complaints.

Then, he had darted to the staircase and ascended them, continuing to beat the walls above.

I followed him.

He had ascended to the top most floor, and, by the use of his hoof, had beaten the ceiling above him.

“Pones!” I cried. “What exactly are you—”

He did not permit me to finish my sentence, for had unexpectedly descended the stairs with frantic energy. I, then, confused as to these queer actions, followed him, crying out his name as I do so.

Once I had descended, I found Pones standing upon the green circular carpet and beat it repeatedly. He seemed to be ascertaining what would be the sounds resonating from this, for he tilted his head towards it as if to hear it clearer. A sort of muffled sound of strange ringing resonated from it.

At first, a look of satisfaction came upon his face, but that had quickly vanished and what replaced it was look of horror. Upon doing so, he stared at the carpet intently. Then at Ms. Pie, whom appeared to quite pleased with herself. She smiled at him rather deviously.

“This is bigger than I had originally thought,” said he in a foreign, almost-mechanic tone, which I am not well-acquainted with. It was very rare of my friend to be troubled of something in such an extent that it is perceivable by noting his voice.

He stood in utter silence as his thin grey eyes darted from the dusty sacks of flour, to the floorboards below him, to Pinkie Pie, and then on me.

“So,” said the pink mare as she approaches him, breaking the silence. “You’re looking for Dash, eh?”

I had observed a change in Pinkie Pie’s demeanor. As a great contrast to the expression she had earlier, where she was nervous and was obviously attempting to conceal something, Ms. Pie had now a certain devious twinkle in those blue eyes of hers, and a certain type of languid air as she approached Pones.

Pones, taking his eyes off the cluttered group of dusty sacks, turned round to face the mare. He eyed at her keenly. “Indeed,” said he.

“Made any progress yet?” asked Pinkie Pie.

Pones considered for a moment. “A considerable, amount, yes,” said he.

“Maybe I could help you find her?” the mare suggested, leaning towards him, smiling widely as she does so.

Pones, whom I expected to be delighted to this remark, simply smiled blandly. “Indeed?” said he. “Why is that?”

“Well,” said the mare, still smiling. “I think I know something that may help you find her.”

“Indeed? Do you care, Ms. Pie, to elaborate on what that something may be?” said my friend, very much interested now, for he stood up and approached the baker. “It may be very handy.”

As their muzzles nearly touched one another, Pones, with his extremely tall figure, still looked down upon the pink mare before him.

As an answer, Pinkie Pie simply widened her already uncanny smile. There was something definitely unnerving in the grotesque features of that fiendish smile that was a great contrast to the strange case in which we are investigating.

“Oh,” said she, giggling in delight. “I won’t be telling you what, silly—not now, at least.”

“Then, when do you propose to do so?” said Pones, evidently amused as to the mare’s own eccentricity.

“Tomorrow!” declared Pinkie Pie; “8 o’clock--sharp!”

“And you shall share to me information concerning your friend’s disappearance?”

Ms. Pie nodded.

“Yes, indeedy!” said she jovially, her form shaking in a great withhold of excitement.

It is at this particular moment, I had, though quite vague, conceived a rather plausible thought.

“But why?” I interjected, following suit of my friend by eying the mare as keenly as I could. “Why tomorrow? Is it not possible, Ms. Pie, that you can do so now? Time may be of the essence.”

She then turned to my direction. “Well,” Ms. Pie began as she swiftly approached me, adding a long emphasis on the well. “I am a little busy right now, you know? I may not have the time to give to you anything yet.”

She had said this as she tapped my chest with her hoof in rather jesting manner.

“Well,” said Pones, arresting both mine and the mare’s attentions as he crammed his lens back into his bag. “that quite settles it, does it not? If the lady insists for our little appointment to take place tomorrow, it shall be assured to be so. A lady's fancies, after all, must be always met.”

The pink mare then shook in delight. But as she did so, I could’ve sworn I saw a certain kind of gleam emitting from her bright sky-blue eyes that greatly contrasts from their hue. I thought it to be quite queer, but had shrugged it off as a mere reaction of her eyes upon the lighting of the room.

“Alright, then!” said Pinkie Pie, smiling at Pones. “8 o’clock tomorrow?”

“8 o’clock it shall be, Ms. Hooves.” said he, smiling.

It is at that moment I had perceived yet another change in the pink mare’s queer demeanor upon hearing my friend mistaking her name with another.

But before she could correct my friend, the latter with his long hoof grasping upon my sleeve and with the use of his species’ powers, took us out of that strange scene.

Comments

[Starlight Nova]

If this is based off of Cupcakes, then shouldn't there be a dark tag?