Sherlock and Watson are transported to Equestria, where they stumble across a case steeped in magic, lies and death.
Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson have solved many cases together. They've seen death, destruction, and more in their line of work. In short, they have come to expect the unexpected.
They never could have predicted they would be turned into ponies. Or sent to Equestria. Or that there would be a case there steeped in magic, fear, blood and betrayal.
Buckle up, kiddies. It's about to get weird.
Both Sherlock and Watson are from the BBC series Sherlock. Takes place after Baskerville, before the last episode of the second season.
John Watson gave Sherlock an exasperated glare before reaching forward and pulling the phone from the pocket of the pacing detective. Sherlock snatched it delicately from his companion when he next passed, quickly opening up his browser and searching for available flights leaving London. Flights to where you may ask?
Sherlock had recently been informed that there was a rather peculiar thing happening over in America. Apparently, there was a rather impressive string of brutal murders in New York. Each victim had had their hands removed while they were still alive. Then, their throats where cleanly slit and their blood was drained, though no blood was found at the scene of the crime. The case had been recently abandoned for unknown reasons, deemed ‘unsolvable’ by the press. To the common person, it was merely an oddity. To Sherlock, it was a challenge. A challenge he very much needed.
He had been so incredibly bored as of late.
“Okay, tickets have been bought, the reservations have been made at our hotel…” the bleep of the delete button being pushed was heard and Sherlock nimbly slid the phone in his pocket. Upon seeing Watson’s inquiring gaze, he sighed and simply muttered, “Mycroft.”
Watson raised an eyebrow, “What? I thought he wasn’t interested in this case.”
“Watson, he is the British government. He’s interested in everyone’s business except his own. Oh, and he was spouting some nonsense about ‘Britain and American relations’ and telling me to ‘play nicely.” Sherlock ran his hands back through his dark, curly hair in an impatient manner as Watson looked on.
And, as he often did, Watson began to think. What would they be up against this time? Was this the act of a lone murderer or some new, twisted gang? Was it that bastard, Moriarty? Was he once again pulling the strings, trying to make Sherlock dance? Or was it someone new entirely? Watson hadn’t the slightest clue, which was frustrating to say the least. Although, when you spend so much time with Sherlock Holmes, you spend an awful lot of time one step behind. He had gotten used to it, more or less.
Oddly, Watson had a feeling there was something other than Sherlock’s impatience in the air. Something was amiss about all of this, something subtle and strange. There was something purely emotional, something even Sherlock wasn’t picking up on. A sense of dread, a darkness hung in the air. Ever since the Baskerville case, it had been there with him and Sherlock, like a smoky shadow looming over them both. It was so clear to Watson, so dark, even tangible at times. But, it would come and go like the reception of a badly tuned radio, like the push and pull of waves on a shore. Regardless what this feeling was, it was persistent.
And it was most certainly tied to this case.
“Watson, could you duck?”
“Hm? What?” Watson shook his head to clear it before he locked eyes with a rather impatient Sherlock.
With a blur of movement and a flash of silver, Sherlock raised an arm and violently hurled a small object directly at Watson, who ducked and swore furiously. The object (a throwing star, of all things) stuck in the wall behind Watson with a satisfying thunk. Looking at the weapon and back to an agitated Sherlock, Watson stood, straightened his shirt and took a deep, angry breath.
“Why the hell did you do that? Furthermore… “ He threw his hands up into the air. “Oh, why do I even bother?”
Sherlock raised his eyebrows, “I told you to duck.”
“You don’t just say ‘duck’ and lob a throwing star at my head! You shouldn’t throw throwing stars at me period!” Watson growled. He then sighed and ran his hands up over his head. He knew it was hopeless. It was like arguing to a brick wall.
“I’m bored, Watson! Everything has been so incredibly dull. For God’s sake, I need this case! Besides, this sort of thing shouldn’t come as a shock to you.” To further emphasize his point, Sherlock gestured towards the wall speckled with bullet holes. He had shot up that wall the last time he was ‘bored’.
“You can't jus-“ Watson took another deep breath and looked back at the enigmatic sleuth with a thin, tight smile playing on his lips.
“It’s fine. I’ll… go pack my bag, then.”
“Oh, good, you’ve decided to do something useful. While you’re up there, be sure to say hello to your girlfriend for me. What was her name?” Before Watson could comment, the detective raised a hand to stop him. “Ah, it doesn’t matter. Judging by the shade of the lipstick stain on your collar and that scuff she left on the floor just to your left, she won’t be around very long anyways.” He threw another star into the wall with fierce precision.
Watson’s ears reddened, his face went taut. As much as he hoped Sherlock was lying, he knew Sherlock had a tendency not to.
But, Sherlock didn’t need to know what he thought.
So Watson spun on his heel and marched up the stairs to meet his soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend. No need to keep her waiting.
-----------------------------
At the Ponyville Library, same time
Princess Twilight Sparkle was running back and forth, her eyes scanning the bookshelves for something that may help. Her wings fluttered nervously as she moved and her eye twitched slightly as it always did when she was under pressure. And as often would do when she was alone in the library, she began to think. Loudly.
“Ugh, for Celestia’s sake! What do I bring, what do I bring? I don’t know what to do!” she moaned, stopping only to prance nervously in place. Another murder had taken place that day in Manehatten. That had been the seventh to occur over the course of the last month. The police were trying their best to hide information relating to the case and keep the public calm. But, the police’s control was slipping. This was the very first string of serial killings to occur within the past 500 years, so this was a horrible shock to the entire nation. Ponies everywhere where getting scared. Really scared.
Twilight had been bombarded with questions from Ponyville residents for days now. They looked to her for the answers they didn’t have. But she didn’t know a thing about the murders. She didn’t know a thing about crime! Then, just an hour ago, she had received a letter from Princess Celestia, asking her to personally investigate the crime. Her! How could she, of all ponies, solve a serious murder case?!
But, Twilight being Twilight, she accepted the challenge. She couldn’t disappoint the princess! But now, she had to pack. What to pack, though? She had never packed for a criminal investigation before. What books would she need? Should she take her Equestrian psychology books and her books addressing the art of deduction? Or should she leave out the psychology books and bring her very few books regarding criminal history in Equestria? Would she need a microscope? Her alchemy kit? Weapons?! Twilight momentarily paused her nervous breakdown to hear the pattering of Spike’s feet on the wood floor.
“Twilight? What are you d- Oof!” Spike entered the room to be tackled by the incredibly nervous mare. He gasped and coughed as the weight of a fully-grown mare slammed heavily down on his scaly chest.
“Spike, pl-eeeaaaase tell me you’ve checked the basement fo-”She quickly realized her mistake and shifted her weight off of the gasping baby dragon, grinning sheepishly. After taking a few deep breaths, Spike gave her a deadpan stare.
“Twilight, are you seriously still worried about this case?” He asked, dusting himself off as he climbed to his feet. “I packed your stuff an hour ago!”
Twilight blinked. “Really?”
“Yeah.” Twilight sat there, disbelieving. That explained why she hadn’t been able to find the books she had wanted. Had she really been running about, yelling and tearing books from shelves for absolutely no reason?
“Did you get my alchemy kit? My books on deduction? My magnifying glass? My best spell books? Microscope? Notebook?” She asked,
“Check, check, check, check, check and check! Now please relax, we have to leave in a few hours,” muttered the exasperated dragon. Twilight stood there a moment, staring at her pint sized assistant in surprise. She then reached forward and ruffled his spines affectionately, smiling gently as she did.
“What would I do without you?” She asked, much to Spike’s delight. She then turned and headed back towards the staircase. She had to update the princess, tell her things where going smoothly. No need to keep her waiting.
Watson had never seen Sherlock so agitated before.
Usually before a case he would run about, grinning like a little boy at Christmastime, impatient yet joyous to finally have something to do with his ever vigilant brain. He would hug Mrs. Hudson, hurriedly yank on his long black coat and run out the door to hail a cab, calling for Watson as he scurried out. But now that all was said and done, now that their plane had taken off... Sherlock was acting downright restless.
He would madly drum his fingers against the scratched and worn arm rest, his eyes darting from passenger to passenger as if dissecting them with is eyes. He would quietly mutter his findings under his breath from time to time, his eyes fixed on the person he was analyzing.
"46 years old, business man, widower..." he would murmur, his eyes fervent, "... sleeping with his secretary, four small children... boring, boring!" He occasionally would slide a hand into his pocket absently to check his phone, only to be reminded he couldn't use it. Watson half expected Sherlock to pull a gun and start shooting holes in the plane. Knowing Sherlock, Watson knew he could have easily snuck such a simple little thing past security at the London airport. Regardless, Sherlock's peevish behavior was unsettling to say the least.
Was Sherlock really so desperate to solve this case?
...Or was it something else?
Could Sherlock feel it, too? The tension? Could he... feel it growing? Watson shuddered at the thought, shifting uncomfortably in his lumpy, cramped seat.
Watson knew there was something very wrong, from the very moment he had boarded the plane. The air inside felt heavy and taut with fear, fear that was neither Sherlock's nor his own. The air tasted metallic and sharp, as lightning were about to strike. But, the rest of the travelers seemed content, so Watson had initially written it off as nothing but jitters.
Now he was beginning to regret his indifference. The tension grew more unbearable with every passing moment. Even the shadow, which had never left his side since Baskerville, had utterly vanished, as if it were afraid of what lay ahead.
No... whatever this was, Sherlock had yet to pick up on it. Besides, it was probably just stress. Watson slowly slumped down into his seat, sighing, closing his eyes. But any attempt at rest was quite suddenly interrupted.
Twilight, you really ought to calm down.
Watson jumped, sending the beverage belonging to the stranger seated on his left flying into the aisle. The man paid no mind, seeing as he was sleeping, but a spilled drink was the least of Watson's worries. The voice... was it from inside his... head? No, of course not! After all he h-
I know, Spike. But what if things go wrong? What if the case never gets solved? A clear, bright, feminine voice spoke clearly in Watson's brain, echoing and vibrating through his skull, effectively interrupting his thoughts. His heart pounded fiercely as he pressed his fingers against his temples, gritting his teeth. How the hell was this happening? He couldn't be hearing voices, he was a mentally sound and well adjusted person. Had could he have suddenly lost his mind within the past three hours?
John, stop. Think. He thought forcefully.
This is not happening. This is clearly a hallucination, induced by stress. These are not real voices.
It'll be fine! Now please stop worrying, your nervous twitching is rocking the chariot. The younger voice spoke again, one that was boyish and clearly annoyed.
Watson took several deep breaths, trying to ignore the voices best he could. He sat up slowly, setting his jaw. Get a hold of yourself, John. The stress is getting the best of you, that's all, he thought to himself intently. He clasped his trembling hands together, carefully controlling his breathing.
Alright Spike, no need to get your scales in a twist.
And that's when Sherlock suddenly jerked out of his seat, just as the feminine voice spoke once again. His eyes were intense and dark as he turned to Watson. Watson knew that look. That was the look Sherlock got whenever something interesting happened, the look he got when he wanted to prove that something was relevant or strange. If it had made him nervous before, the look terrified Watson now.
"Was someone talking?" Sherlock asked intently, gripping the armrest tightly. His dark eyes glittered like a hawk's as he moved a bit closer to Watson, examining everything from his heart rate to his expression. Whatever he had heard, it must have been incredibly strange to get him so agitated.
Could he... have heard the voices as well?
When Watson failed to answer right away, Sherlock sighed exasperatedly. "Watson, I need you to answer me right now. Was there someone talking here in the plane?"
"If you're going to lie to me, Watson, don't make it so painfully obvious. You heard her, didn't you? Inside your head..."
Watson turned as white as a sheet, then turned his gaze to the seat in front of him, refusing to look anywhere else. His knuckles turned white as he clasped his hands together even more tightly, his face as taut as a drum.
"I don't know what you're talking about." Watson whispered, barely able to force the lie past his lips. Sherlock, meanwhile, was in heaven.
"Oh, this is perfect! I knew I was due for another assassination attempt. Oh, but this one is clever. Oh yes, using a hallucinogenic drug of some kind to weaken me. When was it administered, I wonder? I had nothing to eat or drink at the airport, gas can be ruled out, obviously. We're the only ones suffering from hallucinations. Furthermore..." Sherlock continued to chatter excitedly as Watson swooned in his seat, his face pale and clammy.
What the bloody hell was going on? How could they possibly have been drugged? And why was the, plane tipping? Oh, wait, he thought suddenly, that's not the plane...
His vision blurred and he doubled over, feeling nauseous.
"Watson?"
He made a sudden attempt to run to the lavatory, but instead tumbled across the man sleeping next to him and into the aisle. He tried desperately to call for help, but the words died in his throat as he collapsed. He tried to crawl his way forward, but his legs would not support him. His arms fell clumsily to the floor, refusing to do his bidding. He felt like a brittle, old marionette with the strings cut. The best he could do was make tiny whimpering sounds as he lay there, utterly useless.
Fear gripped him with an iron grasp as he tried to make sense of this. There was no way this could be happening, no way that these strange things could happen to him.
This wasn't about the voices anymore. Something was very, sincerely wrong. He would never get sick like this, over something that was purely stress based.
At least, he wouldn't under normal circumstances, which these clearly weren't.
"Watson, I think there is s..." Watson didn't catch the last part. Sherlock's voice sounded so tinny and far away, like he was talking through an old radio. After a few moments passed, Watson heard a muffled groan, followed by a dull thud. He felt something fall against his back, something rather light. Was that Sherlock? Or perhaps someone else, trying to help? He struggled to turn his head and see, but found it impossible to move even a centimeter.
His limbs felt heavy, limp and useless, his mouth felt as if it were full of cotton. Cold, numbness slowly spread through his fingers and toes, as if they were melting away. His mind began to grow cloudy as he watched the world fold in on itself, like some bizarre optical illusion. Oh, wait... that wasn't right...
Was this a hallucination? Or maybe all of this was a dream.
He chuckled quietly. Yes, he thought dizzily, A dream.
He was falling now. Or was he? It was hard to tell, with all the white light filling his eyes, with the pins and needles prickling across his aching skin.
The last thing he saw before darkness took his mind was a blue scarf, dancing and twirling.
"Are we there yet?" groaned Spike as he sunk his teeth into a plump piece of Amethyst. Twilight rolled her eyes and decided not to dignify him with an answer, seeing as this was the thirty second time he had asked. Instead, she cast her gaze out across the landscape below. In the distance, the very tops of the tallest buildings in Manehatten were visible. Rolling hills and valleys of lush green stretched on for miles and miles around. Little farms could be seen occasionally, speckled throughout the countryside.
Perhaps the Apple family owned a farm somewhere around there.
The thought of Applejack and the rest of her friends made Twilight's heart ache. She felt like a terrible pony for not telling them the nature of her Manehatten visit and leaving them behind. She knew keeping them in the dark was for their own safety. She knew the princess had instructed her to take up this important task. But still... As she thought of their supporting, friendly faces, she felt a few small tears come leaking from the corners of her eyes. She missed them so much already...
WWWWWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMM
A massive thrumming noise cut through the silence, shaking Spike from his relaxed position on the floor and causing Twi's teeth to rattle like a wind up toy. The entire chariot shook with such force, both the young drake and the purple alicorn very nearly went careening to their deaths. Shaking her head to clear it, the young princess steadied herself and quickly looked about, searching for the source of their sudden and unusual turbulence. Left was clear. Right, also clear. Up...
"Oh, sweet Celestia..." Twilight whispered, her face slack with surprise.
She watched in fascination and shock as the clear, blue sky opened above her, cracking like a colossal egg. The crack literally split the sky in two, it was so immense. It rumbled like a mighty dragon's growl, it glowed with a brilliance she had never before encountered. It pulsed, leaking wisps of gold smoke. Magic, perhaps? She couldn't tell.
Her heart pounded with excitement as she called to Spike. "Spike, get get my notebook, quick! We have to record this, we don't know how long it will-" She stopped suddenly, squinting up at the crack.
That crack... it had just ejected from itself two tiny shapes. Ponies? Maybe... no... wait, yes! They were ponies! But, that was... utterly impossible. Twilight now had only one question at the front of her mind as she watched the ponies' limp bodies descend:
Holy Tartarus, they're not moving! They're going to die!
Tremors wracked Twilight's sweaty, exhausted body as she lay, panting heavily, in the soft grass. Her wings lay open and relativity limp, aching and shuttering from exertion. Her lungs throbbed furiously and her throat felt as if somepony was cutting it from the inside. The rest of her body ached from her incredibly rocky landing.
But, despite the price she was paying, it was most certainly worth it.
Next to her lay the two fallen ponies, relativity unhurt, slight bruising aside.
But, they were alive.
Still unconscious, but very alive.
She had managed catch up with them and grab hold of their baggy clothing with her teeth. It had taken all the strength she possessed, but she had managed to slow their fall enough to save them both. However, her wings were paying dearly for her actions. Carrying two fully grown ponies was impressive for even the strongest of pegasi. But for her? She often had trouble even carrying just herself!
Regardless... thank Celestia I reached those two in time.
They would have been nothing but smears on the Equestrian countryside. Had she not reached them, they would have died. They would never have woken to see another day. They would have been gone...
Twilight shook her head, quickly shutting out her depressingly morbid thoughts. Such thoughts certainly weren't helpful and would probably lead to a nervous breakdown on her part. And honestly, that was the last thing she needed.
No point in just lying around, I suppose.
Twilight slowly climbed to her hooves, tenderly folding her exhausted wings with a slight cringe as pain quickly flared through her muscles. Gazing upward, she saw the golden chariot from which she had jumped. It was nothing but a glittering speck from where she stood. And yet she could still hear Spike frantically yelling in the distance, telling the chariot pullers to descend faster. Shaking her head, Twilight then turned her attention to the ponies she had just saved.
She frowned at their limp bodies, furrowing her eyebrows. She took a few cautious steps forward, stretching her neck forward to get a better look. She itched to inspect them more thoroughly, to find out what secrets their physiology may hold. What if they had foreign technology on them? What if they were monsters? What if their physical makeup held untold, scientific significance? She stifled an exited giggle as she advanced a few more steps. She was standing directly above them now, an inquisitive glimmer winking in her eyes.
As long as she was here, there was no harm in examining them, right?
Her eyes fastened on the first pony. I have to do what I have to do, she thought, though a bit insincerely. She could wait. But she simply wouldn't. These two ponies were too exciting, they held too much scientific potential.
She had to check them out.
The first was a unicorn, a stallion by the look of it. Both his mane and tail were thick, curly and jet black. Twilight also took note that his mane and tail were both a tad longer than the average stallions. His coat was a dark grey and upon moving his ill-fitted clothing aside, she found that a magnifying glass cutie mark graced his rump. Aside from being a bit taller and skinnier in build than most stallions, she found nothing out of the ordinary. A bit disappointed in her rather pedestrian findings, she moved on to the next pony, half hoping for something more bizarre.
The next was a stallion of average build. A pegasus? Yes, most definitely a pegasus.. His mane and tail were closely cropped and silvery blonde in color, suggesting he was slightly older than his companion. His coat was a very soft shade of yellow, a bit lighter than his hair, and upon further inspection, she found his cutie mark was a simple red cross, the same symbol used in hospitals.
These two ponies had appeared from one of the strangest anomalies to ever occur in Equestrian history...
...And they were completely ordinary.
No physical abnormalities of any kind. No (as Rainbow Dash would put it) 'egghead stuff'. Her shoulders sagged slightly as she let out a small sigh of disappointment.
Well then, she thought,
What do I do now?
Watson awoke with the gritty taste of dirt in his mouth and agonizing pain searing through his skull.
Great way to wake up, he thought to himself, annoyed and disgruntled. Had Sherlock left him outside during a case again, with no way home?
Yes, that had to be it. He could feel grass itching against his side, feel sun against his body. He must have lay down in park or something and dozed off.
Great. Just fantastic.
He moaned pitifully as he slowly rolled over onto his back, spitting out clumps of dirt and grass as he did. He probably looked like a greasy homeless man, covered with dirt and severely hungover. Not one of his prouder moments, but one could hardly blame him. He felt like he had drunk 6 cases of beer the night before and been kicked in the face by a horse.
He winced as his eyes fluttered open, the direct sunlight causing his headache to grow even more painful.
But, he didn't really stop to think about how he got his massive headache or why he would fall asleep in a park, of all places.
All he could think about was getting home. The faster he could get back to Baker Street and back to his own bed, the better. If he could just hail a taxi... Sherlock, you bastard, he thought tiredly. If you left me here, so help me...
He froze when he finally came to realize two very important details. For one, it was quiet. Nothing but the faint sound of wind and the whisper of grass.
London was never this quiet.
Secondly, the sky above him was a brilliant shade of blue, as clear and bright as he had ever seen it.
Too clear to be London skies.
London skies never looked quite this bright and cloudless. The skies bore a bit of smog even on the better days. In fact, he was fairly sure he had never seen such a pure, blue sky in his entire life. Could it be...
Oh, no.
He felt dread sink into his gut as memories came flooding back, like water rushing from a broken dam. The plane, the voices... the strange seizure that had struck him. He should be on a plane right now, thousands of feet in the air, not on the ground, spitting out weeds and dirt. Did the plane crash? Am I stranded somewhere? Or am I... dead? His chest grew tight. He suddenly felt rather cold despite the sunny weather.
No... no he couldn't be dead. That didn't feel right. It took a few minutes, but he was able to get a hold of his paranoid thoughts and took several deep, calming breaths. He wasn't dead. There was no possible way he was dead. Dead people couldn't think or breathe, now could they?
After taking a deep breath, Watson managed to force himself into a sitting position, gritting his teeth as his head continued to pound. Sitting as he did felt abnormally uncomfortable, for some reason. His legs felt a bit out of place and he felt like he was sitting on something as well. Probably just a rock, or a stick. He shrugged off his mild discomfort and instead began to survey his surroundings.
What he found was nothing but rolling hills of lush green for miles around. Nothing but millions of blades of grass (and the occasional daisy or daffodil), waving in the pleasant breeze. To his left, he could make out the proud, rocky peaks of some very impressive mountains in the distance. To his right, there was a single flash of silver winking at him from over the tops of some slightly less imposing mountains and hills. He squinted at it, craning his neck to get a better angle on it. A search light, perhaps? Or the glare of glass windows? He couldn't quite tell. Maybe if he changed positions, he co-
"Um, excuse me? Uh... sir?"
Watson quite nearly jumped out of his skin. No, it can't be... he thought nervously. That voice, that knowledgeable, bright, feminine voice... that was...
" Sir, are you... can you hear me?" Watson swallowed the large lump in his throat. That voice wasn't in his head, at least not anymore. He could hear it, clear as a bell, with his own two ears. It wasn't like before. Maybe this was all part of some misunderstanding. Maybe he wasn't crazy...
Then, of course, he actually saw who was addressing him.
The creature that cautiously walked into Watson's line of sight, was like something out of a children's book. It was... well, it was rather horse-like, if that helps. It had four legs, hooves, and a mane and tail. Only it clearly wasn't a horse. It was only a few inches taller than than he was, in his current position, so it was safe to guess it was a pony.
It's fur was lavender in color, which was startling to say the least. It's muzzle was quite short and small, at least compared to it's large, rounded head. It's eyes were a deep purple and sported long, feminine lashes, but that wasn't the strange part. Not only were they very large, but they were highly... expressive. They held an innate curiosity, a spark of intelligence that Watson had never seen in an animal before.
Its mane and tail were long and straight and were both an even darker shade of purple, with a single pink highlight streaking through them both. From its forehead and out through its hair, protruded a single horn that matched its fur in color. Folded tightly against its back were a pair of wings that shivered slightly as it came to a halt about 5 feet front of him. Watson quickly assumed it was female, but that hardly seemed like the thing to worry about.
He was looking at a pony with wings and a horn. A living, breathing winged unicorn that may or may not be able to talk. He could barely wrap his mind around it. He just couldn't process something to monumentally strange.
So he sat there, jaws agape, in complete and utter shock, while she stood still, looking at him with both caution and interest dancing in her eyes.
Thus, they waited, as if to see who would move first. It almost felt like some sort of bizarre chess game.
About five minutes later, it was the pony who broke the stillness and took one very slow step forward. Her eyes became more hopeful, friendly and open. A gentle smile touched her lips. At that moment, she spoke directly to Watson, for the very first time. No mistakes, no misunderstandings. And as she spoke, Watson took a sharp, sudden breath.
"Sir, can you talk? Are you okay? Because, I have some questions to ask."
There was an long, uncomfortable pause before Watson was able to find his voice again. And once he tried to say something, the words he spoke came out squeaky and tight, sounding a bit like a mouse being stepped on.
"You're talking. You... are talking,"
The purple creature cocked its head to one side, looking confused.
"Yes, I'm talking. Is that bad or something?" she asked. Watson cleared his throat uncomfortably and lowered his head slightly, never letting his eyes leave her.
"You..." he found himself tripping over his own tongue as he tried to form an intelligent response. "You're not supposed to talk. Animals... animals cannot talk."
The mare looked a bit affronted at this, but she recovered and pushed on, her tail swishing as she walked two steps closer. "Well, you seem to talk just fine." she spoke in a reasonable tone, taking Watson aback.
"O-of course I talk, I'm human! Humans talk!" Watson stammered. The lavender pony frowned slightly, raising one eyebrow.
"Um, I don't know what a 'hoo-mun' is...," she said, looking him up and down, "but... you look like a stallion to me."
"W-what?" Watson blurted out. He grew quiet for a moment in order to collect his thoughts, took a deep breath and swallowed hard before continuing, "Excuse m-me, but I assure you, I am not a pony. I can't be." The mare looked both bewildered and fascinated after hearing his response.
"So, before you came here, you were something else? A 'hue-mon'?"
"Human," Watson corrected, a hint of anger and desperation seeping into his voice. "I'm human! Look at me. Why is that hard to understand?" The creature winced and turned her gaze downward. As he slowly mulled over her odd proposal, Watson became suddenly aware that he could not feel his fingers. Odd, people usually pick up on something so basic more quickly than that. The more he thought about it, he also came to notice his knees felt... strange. Beyond strange, actually. They felt utterly and completely wrong. Almost... backwards.
What the bloody hell was going on?
Before Watson could think further, the mare spoke once again, scattering his thoughts.
"Well..." she kicked at the ground nervously with her front hoof, "Have you checked lately?"
Watson raised his eyebrows. "What?"
"Have you... checked that you're still human since you've come here?" Watson stiffened, biting his lower lip.
No. No, I haven't checked.
B-but, it can't be...
"W-well, I-I..." he stuttered. The lavender mare regarded him with those massive, intelligent eyes, as if silently urging him to prove his claim. 'Look down at yourself and see the truth', her eyes said.
Could I really be..?
Watson felt like he was choking on his own words as he slowly, almost fearfully, let his gaze travel away from the pony and downward, towards his own body. He hoped, he prayed, that what she said wasn't true.
It couldn't be. It was impossible.
When Watson's eyes finally reached where his feet should have been, he felt the blood drain from his face. His pupils shrank to the size of pinpoints.
Hooves. He had hooves. And pony hindquarters. And a furry, yellow, pony torso.
Watson could hardly think to move. His breath came in shallow, shaky gasps. All he could do was sit in silence and stare at the strange appendages that now belonged to him. The clumsy hooves, the equine limbs, the soft yellow fur that covered his body where all undoubtedly, impossibly, his.
John couldn't even begin to process it. It was so utterly impossible and strange and wrong. It simply couldn't be real.
"No. No no, this is not happening. I... I'm dreaming, I've been drugged..." he murmured as calmly as he could muster, his voice cracking in his throat as he tried to explain this, to himself more than anyone. The purple pony lay her ears to the sides, looking distressed, almost sympathetic towards his plight. She spoke, pity shining deeply in those massive, sparkling eyes.
"Sir, please try to calm down."
"Calm down?" Watson forced out a weak, dry laugh, unable to look her in the face, "I'm completely calm. Never been better. I've been drugged, that's all! That is the only logical explanation." He laughed again, this time a bit more hysterically. The winged unicorn frowned with concern as he sat there, trying his best to rationalize this very odd turn of events. His mind traveled back through every medical journal he had ever seen, straining to remember the effects of hallucinogenic drugs. Hundreds of half remembered articles on the subject flashed through his head as he dug deeper and deeper for the truth he sought.
The lavender pony refused to be shaken off so easily.
"Sir, please," she pleaded, "You haven't been drugged, you're just confused. Listen, I can help you if you'd just..." her voice trailed off and her expression grew disgruntled.
"You're not listening to a word I'm saying, are you?" She asked, with no reply. Watson felt it best, since it didn't make much sense to talk to your hallucinations. But his 'hallucination' wasn't about to give up.
She took a deep, calming breath and tried again. "Sir, be mature about this. Ignoring me won't make me disappear and you know it." Naturally, Watson continued to ignore her. Although, her maturity comment did cause him to bristle a bit.
I'm not being immature, I'm being reasonable. He thought to himself, stubbornly, Talking to my own imagination isn't going to get me anywhere.
The lavender mare, however, only grew more irritated.
She marched right up to Watson and planted herself directly in front of him, her stance wide and solid, her frowning muzzle about six inches away from his face. Needless to say, it was uncomfortable to have her so close. He leaned backwards a bit, but her face followed his. He tried to move away from her, but this was easier said than done, considering he had no idea how move properly as a pony. The best he could manage was an ineffective wiggling, kicking motion that only brought more discomfort on his part. With a little irritated grunt, he gave in and spoke to her.
"Um, a little space if you don't mind?" he asked, giving her a tense, thin smile.
Her eyes where insistent and fierce as she looked him square in the eyes, almost angrily. "Sir, you have not been drugged," she forcefully stated, moving even closer, "This is real, I am real and you are, at the moment, a pony, regardless of what you were previously. The sooner you come to terms with that, the easier all of this will be."
After a second or so of shocked silence, Watson lay his ears to the sides with an awkward twitch, growing more frustrated.
"Do you actually expect me to believe you?" he said, anger seeping into his voice. "You're a bloody talking horse, for Christ's sake! You're like something out of some silly little fairy tale and most certainly not something that can exist in the real world. And for the record, I am not a pony. I cannot be a pony. A physical transformation of that magnitude is utterly impossible, even with modern science."
"What are you talking about?! Transformation magic, though uncommon, is far from out of reach by the common unicorn!"
"MAGIC. ISN'T. REAL."
The pony let out a long, exasperated sigh and rubbed her temples with her hooves.
"Fine," she said, in an irritated manner, "then why don't you just relax?"
"Excuse me?"
"Roll with it. Just give in. Even if you refuse to believe me and still think this is an illusion of some kind, what's the harm in playing along?"
Watson sat there for a quiet moment, blinked, then looked up at her slowly, begrudgingly. She made a good point. He couldn't just sit here for hours, blocking everything out. But he wasn't so sure he wanted to just 'play along' with something like... this. He slowly mulled it over, rolling the idea about it his brain and weighing out his options while the winged unicorn watched intently.
The 2 minutes ticked by.
Then five.
Well... it would pass the time at least
"Alright..." the yellow stallion muttered, much to Twilight's relief and delight.
She had hated getting so sharp with him, to be honest. But, now she didn't have to be!
Finally, he would give her answers! He could tell her about the anomaly, he could tell her about where he came from, who he was! The whole prospect was so exciting, should couldn't contain herself. Her whole body filled with excited tension, as if she were about to take a giant leap into the air. Her ears perked up, her wings flared open in her excitement, the pain of her previous flight momentarily dwarfed by her intellectual joy. Twilight's eyes lit up as she flashed him an massive, friendly smile.
"Oh, thankyouthankyouthankyou!!" she squealed, bouncing up and down with excitement. That is, until she spotted the very odd expression on the stallion's face. She froze in place, then quickly smoothed out her mane and cleared her throat with a tiny 'ahem'. She had to talk to him, be his friend, not freak out and make him even more uncomfortable.
Okay. I'll start with the basics.
Twilight smiled once again, this time in a more restrained manner, and said, "Well, I guess some introductions are in order! My name is Twilight Sparkle."
The pony gave her a small, guarded, and tentative smile
"John. John Watson."
Alright, this is great progress! Twilight thought, trying hard to control her glee. What should I ask him next? Should I ask about his species, if he has a different one? His home? How advanced technology is where he's from? She giggled in excitement, eliciting another odd expression from the confused stallion.
And that's when she suddenly remembered. How could she have forgotten? Watson wasn't the only thing to come through The Crack...
Oh, I may want to bring up that other stallion lying behind him.
Wait... did he just move?
"Um, John..."
"Watson?" a deep, familiar voice called out., effectively interrupting Twilight.
John's ears moved quickly to pick up the sound as his stomach filled with ice. His pupils shrank in disbelief. He knew that voice beyond the shadow of a doubt. The voice that patronized him, laughed with him, the voice that spoke a million miles an hour when deducing. A voice that he could scarcely believe he was hearing. Watson slowly turned his head
Laying on the ground was a grey unicorn stallion with thick, curly black hair. His eyes were a familiar, electric shade of blue, his expression was both remarkably calm and slightly panicked, and around his neck was a certain blue scarf. His limbs where also tangled in a massive black coat, the one Watson had seen day after day draped over a certain detective's shoulders. Yes, he knew who this pony was. He sure as hell didn't want to say it, but he knew who this pony was.
"Sh-Sherlock?"
"It's about time you noticed I was here." Sherlock muttered, sounding both relived and a bit irritated, "I've been listening to you whining for ten minutes. I was getting bored."
Watson's jaw hung open as this pony, no, Sherlock, struggled to stand under the weight of the massive black coat. Watson found himself quite at a loss for words. Not only was he in a strange world inhabited by magical horses, not only was he a horse himself, but his best friend had somehow managed to follow him here.
He wasn't sure if he should be relived or even more frightened.
Sherlock's bright blue eyes regarded Watson quizzically as he tugged at the coat with little success. When Watson remained silent, he looked Watson directly in the eyes and spoke again, his voice louder and very firm.
"Watson."
Watson's initial shock quickly shattered. "Hm, what?" he blurted suddenly. He shook his head to clear it."Oh... Sherlock... Hello there."
Sherlock had won his battle against the huge coat, kicking and shoving it off of him with both his hind legs and snout working in tandem. He pushed himself slowly into a standing position, wincing, possibly at the unfamiliar sensation of standing on hooves. He then took a breath, looked directly at Watson and raised an eyebrow.
"Hello there? Is that really all you have to say?"
That single, condescending remark was like a slap to the face. Watson's face screwed up in indignation as he sputtered a moment, then found his voice. "I...you...n-no! What the hell are you doing here, anyways?!"
"Ah, yes. A much better question. Though, I can't say I know the answer." Sherlock trailed off a bit as he spoke, raising a hoof up to his face and examining it. His eyebrows were knitted in thought as he slowly moved it about, as if testing its movement.
"Fascinating..."
"Fascinating?!" Watson whispered with disbelief.
"What, you don't find this interesting? I knew you were a bit dull, Watson, but I would think even you would be fascinated by something like this."
Watson frowned and furrowed his brow, looking Sherlock up and down. Was this the same Sherlock who had been trembling at the prospect of a massive, supernatural hound? The Sherlock who had fallen to pieces when something utterly impossible appeared to had happened? The Sherlock who hated not being able to explain things?
During the Baskerville case, Sherlock had been subjected to a hallucinogenic drug without realizing. Here, there was no possible way they could have been drugged, as much as Watson didn't want to believe it. This wasn't just mistaking a shadow for a dog, this was gaining new bodies and being dropped in an entirely new world.
And after all of that, all Sherlock could say was that this situation was fascinating?
Sherlock cleared his throat."Watson, are you just going to sit there and keep gawking at me?"
Watson scowled, pushing his thoughts aside, and slowly climbed to his feet. Or rather, to his hooves. His weak muscles and joints wobbled a bit, seeing as they had never been used before, but in a few moments they steadied under the new, unfamiliar weight. He let out a small sigh.
Nothing really makes much sense right now, Watson thought, I suppose the best thing to do is take it all in stride and figure it all out as I go. Like Twilight said, there's really no point in just sitting around.
Oh, speaking of Twilight...
Watson turned to look a the lavender pony, who had simply been watching them quietly with a curious look on her face. He had to admit, though her existence still baffled him, she seemed like a trustworthy and gentle soul. Which was saying a lot, seeing as Watson was almost always both critical and cautious when he approached other people. Or ponies, in this case.
"Um, I hate to ask, Miss Sparkle," started Watson, "But would you mind te-"
"Twilight!" a young, boyish voice interjected shrilly. The same boyish voice that had spoken on the plane, in fact. A solid gold chariot land softly on the grass behind Twilight, pulled by two large, stocky male pegasi wearing golden armor.
Watson wished he could say he was shocked, or something, but at that point he was barely even surprised. This sort of thing was downright normal compared to the discoveries he made upon first waking up.
Out of the back jumped purple dragon with green spines. He was about as tall as the chariot wheel and for some reason, he looked like he had suffered about six heart attacks all at once. He was gasping, wheezing and shaking like a leaf as he stumbled over to Twilight like a drunk and grabbed hold of her leg to steady himself.
"Spike, what took you so long? Are... are you alright?" She asked nervously. The dragon merely looked up at her with a pair of large green eyes, still wheezing as he said,
"Never..(gasp). EVER... do that..(pant). again."
Twilight sat them all down and explained best she could their situation. She explained they were in a country called Equestria and that nearly every inhabitant of Equestria was a pony of some kind. Other inhabitants were zebras, mules, griffons, and the occasional dragon. When Watson asked about humans, she claimed she had never heard of such a creature before.
Watson sat quietly throughout her explanation, only speaking up to ask a few questions. Sherlock, surprisingly, remained utterly silent. John half expected him to interrupt with some remark about how boring Twilight was being or start using his deduction methods to accidentally insult her. But, he remained still and silent, his eyes fixed intently on the purple mare. After she finished, it was silent. No one spoke. Hell, how could they? No one quite knew what to say.
"So..." Watson piped up after a long pause, "You really don't know how to get us home?"
Twilight shook her head, "I'm afraid not. I'll try my best to find a way, but right now there are other pressing issues I've been told to deal with," She sighed, "I'll send a letter to the Princess when we reach Manehatten, maybe she'll know what to do..."
Watson snorted, "I'm s-sorry... did you just say Manehatten?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Oh, it's nothing."
"No," Sherlock murmured suddenly. Every head turned towards the grey stallion in surprise. His head was bowed as if he were tired, but his eyes were wide open and darting wildly back and forth, as they often did when he was thinking.
"Nononono, it's not nothing. There's more to this," he muttered restlessly, "How can you all be so thick? How can you not see it?"
"Excuse me?" Twilight said, somewhat offended by his last remark.
"Sherlock, what is it?" Watson asked softly, knowing what would come next. The grey unicorn sat bolt upright, his eyes burning with an intensity that Watson knew all too well. He was onto something.
"You. You said you were going to Manehatten, yes?" he asked, speaking at a million miles a minute. "No, shut up, of course you did, don't answer. Manehatten is clearly a pun, like the Manhattan of this alternate world. We were going to Manhatten to solve a crime, a murder, and you were going to Manehatten at the same time to solve a murder as well. This proves there must be a connection."
Twilight gasped, "B-but, that's classified! How could you know that I...?" Sherlock's lips twitched into a small smile.
"When you brought up those 'pressing matters' you have to deal with, you started kicking the dirt with your hoof and your ear started twitching slightly. Normally, this could be written off as a nervous tick, but you seem to be someone who can handle an extraordinary amount of stress. You handled us without batting an eye, meaning that whatever is happening in Manehatten is strange and very far out of your comfort zone. Now, let take a look at the guards, shall we? These guards are wearing armor made of gold, which is a metal not used in conventional armor. Steel or iron would be a much better choice, unless there is no need to protect yourself often. This means that Equestria is clearly not prone to violence or war. Now, if a murder were to occur in country were violence is not common, that would make even some of the most level-headed people stressed, incredibly stressed. Hence, the ear twitching. So, connecting these two points, its obvious you are going to solve a crime of some kind. Most likely, a murder. Not to mention it makes sense they would be sending you to crack the case. You clearly hold some sort of prestigious position, judging from the way your holding yourself, the tiara sticking out of your saddlebag and the armed escorts. Only someone very important would be put in charge of a murder case if crime was almost unheard of."
Sherlock stopped to breathe. The whole group was staring at him with a sort of breathless, frightened respect. That is, except for Watson, who shot Sherlock an annoyed look. The detective was too busy drinking in all the admiration to notice.
Attention whore, Watson thought crossly.
After a few moments, Twilight spoke up.
"Well," she said hesitantly, "If what Sherlock says is true-"
"It is." Sherlock interjected bluntly. She shot him an indignant look, which he ignored.
"-then we ought to continue on to Manehatten together. It's our best shot. Any objections?"
No one spoke up. No one argued. Twilight smiled slightly, as if relived.
"Then it's settled. Guards, prepare the chariot. We're off to Manehatten."
Watson was standing stiffly on a rain-soaked city curb, trembling from the cold and the damp. He could see his breath hanging in front of him in little puffs of white as he rubbed his hands together in an effort to keep warm. The streets around him were empty and bleak, everything was tinged in shades of black and white. It was almost as if the color had been sucked out of everything. A thick, eerie mist sank into his jacket and clung to the gritty sidewalks like icy tendrils that sought to smother any light or color. The buildings around him where tall, menacing. The cement was cracked and covered in grime, as if no one had been there in years. It was like no place he had ever been. And yet... he almost felt nostalgic. As if he had seen this place somewhere before.
Wait... how did I get here? Watson wondered. He didn't remember coming here. In fact, he couldn't remember much at all. Everything seemed a bit fuzzy. Something about a case... in New York? He shook his head, unable to reach the memories he sought.
"Where am I?" he ventured aloud. His voice echoed out into the dim streets. There was no reply, only silence. Sensing movement, his eyes darted down to the ground, only to find more mist. The tendrils of silver-grey curled and slithered across the ground like snakes. Each tendril seemed to have a mind of its own, moving about like sentient beings, curiously probing into dark crannies and curling around his legs. It was as if they were lost puppies, inquisitive and full of longing. Watson knew he should feel nervous or afraid, but he felt only pity for such lonely creatures.
Why am I not afraid? he thought, furrowing his brow. Why am I so calm? I don't know where I am, the mist looks like it's alive, I'm all alone... I should be at least a tad uneasy. But, no. I don't feel even the slightest bit scared.
Ah, but all is calm before the storm, John Watson, a smooth voice whispered in the back of his brain. He shuddered, cramming his hands into his pockets while trying to ignore the voice. Everything was going to be just fine. He would... find a pay phone or something. He would call a cab and all of this would be over and done.
Then, a piercing scream rang out through the mist, breaking the spell, causing Watson's hair to stand on end. The mist suddenly vanished from around him, fleeing into alleys and dark corners as if they were afraid.
Dammit.
"Hello?!" He spun wildly, searching for the source of the frightening sound. Watson could feel his heart pounding in his throat as he clenched his fists, digging his fingernails deep into his palms. There were a few small, choked sobs, and then silence.
"Is there anyone there?" he called, struggling to keep his voice steady, "P-please, I can help you. Just... signal me somehow. Tell me where you are!" There was silence, aside from the sound of his heartbeat and heavy breathing.
Suddenly, another shriek blasted through the silence, followed by muffled cries and fearful pleas he couldn't quite make out. It was coming from the narrow alley, just across the street. He could see two vague shapes in the retreating mist. One was backed against the wall, curled up in the fetal position. The other was raising a knife. Adrenaline hit Watson like a sledgehammer.
"Hold on!" he cried, breaking into a fierce run, "I'm coming, I can help you! Just hold on!"
As his foot struck the asphalt, it liquefied and pulled him down like quicksand. Pain jolted through his knee as his right leg was held fast while the rest of him kept moving forward. He fell hard on the concrete with a pained grunt, quickly sinking up to his thigh while his other leg was pulled down as well. He clawed at the ground in a desperate attempt to full himself up onto the street again, but his hands were soon trapped in the liquid asphalt's sticky grasp. Another desperate scream caused his stomach to lurch. There were a few choked gasps, then a horrid gurgling sound.
Blood, fresh and steaming in the cold, pooled out of the alley and dripped sluggishly down the curb. Watson's face went slack with shock.
"No..." he whispered, "N-"
He felt a pair of icy hands latch onto his calves, much to his surprise and fear. They jerked him violently under before he could say another word.
Blood. Blood everywhere. Blood dripping down the stone walls, blood in his eyes. A pair of eyes that shone menacingly amid the crimson haze.
Blood and more blood. Everything smothered in blood.
John was drowning, yet he could still breathe. He was struggling, yet unable to move.
Bloody images flashed before his eyes. A low, brick building. A gravestone. A white ribbon.
Then... darkness,
I could have saved her. I wasn't fast enough, I wasn't strong enough. I wasn't smart enough.
Sherlock would have known what to do
A woman's voice rang out the the dark, a thunderous voice that resonated deeply through his whole body and up into his skull.
Doubt is unbecoming of you, John Watson. You must remain strong, even if your heart grows heavy with fear. You will need to be ready for the trails that lay ahead.
But they don't need me. I'm useless, just an old soldier with nothing to lose. But Sherlock... he's...
Sherlock will need you, now more than ever. He is afraid, terrified, more than he has ever been in his life. You need to be there and keep him grounded. Make sure he doesn't plunge headfirst into despair.
But...
Something is coming, John. Something unlike anything you've ever faced before, something that may even break the mighty Sherlock Holmes. You must stand with him. You must stop it.
How?!
... How do you think?
Twilight gazed out at the horizon, at the distant buildings and lights that flashed and shone in the night. Next to her, Watson muttered and tossed restlessly in his sleep. Even as he slept, he still had a troubled look etched in his face.
"Does he always look so... worried?" Twilight asked, turning her gaze to Sherlock, who was currently flipping through pages of her favorite tome on Equestrian history.
Without looking up, he muttered, "I don't often watch him sleep, if that's what you're implying."
Twilight blushed and shook her head wildly. "N-no! That's not what I- well of course it's fine if you trot that way I suppose... um..." She trailed off nervously, unsure of how to proceed. Sherlock made a somewhat annoyed huffing sound and turned a page. There was an uncomfortable silence for several minutes.
"I hope you realize I intend to work with you on this murder case, Miss Sparkle." Sherlock muttered, startling the purple mare.
" What?"
"I intend to work on this case and solve it, of course. I've got very little else to do at the moment and you are clearly quite out of your depth."
"I beg yo-" Sputtered Twilight, but Sherlock quickly cut her off.
"Oh, please. Don't act like you know what you're getting into, you clearly have never dealt with anything more violent than a schoolyard fight in this country." The grey unicorn stated coolly, "I, on the other hand, have solved countless baffling murders and faced off against criminals unlike any you've ever seen. I would think you would welcome someone as experienced as myself into the investigation."
Twilight was taken aback by his frank and somewhat rude proclamation. He had no right to just insert himself into a criminal investigation! He had no way of proving his claims and she had no reason to trust him.
He was right about one thing, though she didn't want to admit it. She really was out of her depth. What if he could help? What is if wasn't lying? She chewed on her lip nervously. She could use all the help she could get...
She needed time. Time to weigh out her options and made an educated decision.
"I'll... have to think about it," Twi responded carefully. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.
"Really?"
"What, is there something wrong?"
"Usually I just get a flat out, 'No,'" Sherlock said absently, causing the mare to giggle.
"So, you often ask to jump into official investigations?" Twilight asked. Sherlock smiled slightly.
"No, I almost never ask permission. You should consider yourself fortunate that I even made my intentions known."
"Oh, really?" Twilight inquired curiously. Sherlock finally looked up from his book, shutting it with an air of finality.
"Do you doubt me?" he asked, almost sharply.
"Yes."
"Good, trusting a complete stranger on their word is stupid. It's nice to know John and I won't be working with a complete dunce." He stated, reclining against the front of the chariot. Twilight scowled and turned away, curling up on the floor of the chariot. She may as well get some rest or something. The conversation wasn't going anywhere, anyways.
"It's nice to know I may be working with a total jerk..." She muttered sourly.
