sir i’m sorry to inform you that your sherclop hooves/sherlock horse molestation fic involving a ponified version of our mutual friend is both critically sexy and emotional
fuck you dash there are no ‘read more’ functions for asks so prepare to eat the whole thing i dont even care
welcome to tumblrland bitch
i’m back fuck you all you didn’t even notice
A Very Special Client
It was the second year of our cohabitation at Baker Street, and I wasn’t sure I would survive to see the third. Sherlock, as was his custom, had awoken with a snort and stampeded into the living room to check the day’s papers. I was already sitting behind my copy of the Times, dutifully nosing through in search of something – anything – that would take the edge off of my flat-mate’s withdrawal. But, as look would have it, the Commonwealth was experiencing an unsightly dry spell of all things criminal and mysterious. Soon, I knew, Sherlock would be turning to something with a little more kick to it than tea, biscuits, and good-old-fashioned murder. The last time, he had somehow gotten hold of a syringe of tranquilizer, and I was barely in time to knock it out of his grip and crush it against the ground. Was it too much, I said under my breath, to wish for some mysterious mugging? Perhaps a nice, refreshing rape?
I shuddered at the thought. I had yet to get used to wanting – nay, praying for victims to satisfy my friend’s hunger. Then there was the fact that Sherlock could handle quite a bit, but there were some things he was simply not allowed to hear about, bless him, and rape was one such thing. I sneaked a furtive glance in his direction; he caught my eye and snorted indignantly, and paced about the flat, champing at the bit for some relief.
So it was with unparalleled excitement that we both raised our heads – I could have sworn I saw his ears twitch in anticipation – when the doorbell rang.
Two quick strides and a knocked-over table later, and Sherlock was opening the door, and I was looking through to see what our fortune had brought us in the way of clients, and I was staring into the eyes of the most beautiful mare I had ever clapped eyes on.
She stood there, shy and scared-looking, and met my eye. I decided to dip a hoof into the water-trough first, determined to spare her as much pain as possible. “Please, make yourself at home.”
The chestnut filly cantered awkwardly into our sitting room. As she went by, I couldn’t help but inhale her scent, and was reminded of my years as a simple foal on a farm in the Highlands. When Sherlock had followed her in, I nudged him with my nose. “The bit!” I whispered urgently. “Take it off!” “But I like it,” he neighed. “Not in front of the clients, damnit!” I countered. Reluctantly, he shook himself free of it.
“M-mr. Sherlock Horse?” Her whinny, high and panicked, made my heart swell to help her. I took in the details of her appearance as best I could, lingering on her curly mane, but Sherlock had already seen everything there was to see, which he made clear in the way only he could.
“You’re not going to put off that gynecology appointment this time, I hope, Ms…”
“Dino!” I never thought I’d hear a pony squeak, but sure enough, there is no other way to describe the sound she made at that moment. I was going to kill him.
“But… but… but how?” she asked, terrified.
“It’s not important,” I offered, but Sherlock galloped on; there was no stopping him when the chance to show off reared its head.
“Of course, not, John. No real deduction to make – she may as well have written the whole story on her face. Although I’m not too surprised you missed it – you never did may that much attention to shoes.”
“Shoes?” she forced out. She sat down, covering her hooves shyly, but not before I caught a glimpse at a worn but attractive set of chucks.
“Yes, Ms. Dino, your shoes – they tie the rest of your story together like the pretty pink bow you lust after. The digital watch on your front leg – never quite got the hang of daylight savings, did we now? That and your glasses – one lens obviously missing, the frame doesn’t even meet there; clearly, you make an effort to maintain some sort of appearance, though I’ll be a bottle of glue before I can tell you what that appearance is. Yet you won’t lift a hoof to take care of your actual needs. That and your plaid saddle – tasteful the plaid may be, but in a universe without humans, one has to wonder what sort of proclivities you’re trying to signal to the local colts. It is colts, isn’t it?” I admit that I paid far more attention to this part of the interview than I should have.
“Y-yes…” She whispered. Her large, brown eyes were tearing up behind her compromised lenses.
“That would explain the farm smell – the stallions are especially keen this time of year, I almost can’t blame you for making your way out to the country-side.”
“MaybeIlivethere…” she mumbled, shivering on the floor. I snorted angrily at Sherlock.
“In those shoes? Please, if I wanted to hear lies, I’d go through Mrs. Hudson’s magazine collection. You’ve worn those shoes for months, by the looks of it, and you didn’t even know to get some boots nailed on before visiting a farm? You’ve never lived a day in the country until this week. You don’t even know what sort of diseases you could have picked up on your neck-nuzzling journey of titillation. As John will tell you, this is not the year to skip your check-up.”
“SHERLOCK!” I brayed, angrier than I’d been in… hours.
“Sorry, John, I know I promised not to do your job for you —”
Sherlock and I both stared at the mare – suddenly up on all fours, breathing steam. We hunched our shoulders reflexively.
“I came here to for your help, and you’re going to help me, you trough-pissing douche-nozzle!”
It was our turn to sit down.
“Start from the beginning please, Ms. Dino. Leave out no details.”
She sat back down.
“You’re right. You’re right about everything. The glasses, the saddle, the shoes, everything. Sometimes, I don’t take the best care of my things, or keep track of the time. But I’m a good little pony, and just because I like certain things, and I like them rough, doesn’t make me any less the classiest pony-bitch you’ve ever seen.” She stared at us fiercely, daring us to contradict her. Sherlock breathed in, as though about to say something, but shook myself angrily, swiping him with my mane.
“So I was visiting relatives in Danfordshire with my folks. They’re all kind of… well, retarded, except for a few of them. But we were staying with the retarded ones. And I was wearing this cute little tie, when my one uncle turns to me and says, ‘Hey, that’s a nice tie you’ve got.’ I just sort of go, ‘Um, thanks, I guess.’ And then he says, ‘so, are you going to the Filly Fair?’”
“The Filly Fair?” I repeated, and tossed a glance at Sherlock.
“It’s a chain of clubs for mares who like mares,” he responded calmly, steepling his hooves. “Please continue.”
I turned to Dino in confusion “But you don’t… You said you like…”
“We’re pretty sure he’s a mule,” she said, and went on. “I told him that that was ridiculous, but he kept asking, and he and his wife kept laughing, and I just… well, I got upset, and I needed some air, so I asked to step outside.
“I went galloping around the countryside, and I got… kinda lonely, if you know what I mean…” A laugh edged its way into her voice. I became aware of my mouth hanging slightly open. “Stopped by hay station to ask where I could find the nearest farm. There was this…” Suddenly, her eyes dropped, and all humor left her tone, replaced by a note of shame and distress. “This cow.”
“She was this big, husky thing, with a ring in each nostril and short, cropped hair between her horns. She gave me this weird look, and I figured that something was wrong, but I was already in there, so I asked her where the nearest farm was, and she just kind of looked at me and said, ‘Oh, honey, we’ve got one out back…’ And I’m like, ‘What, a farm?’ And she just sort of motions behind her with her tail and says, ‘follow me.’”
“Which you did.” Sherlock stared at the young mare with an expression of detached disdain.
“Sherlock,” I breathed menacingly.
“I’m sorry. Please continue.”
“Well,” resumed Dino, “I… I followed her out. And there was, like, clearly no farm behind the station, and I got really nervous and told her I would just get going. And she… she…” The young mare began to tear up again.”
“You don’t have to tell us anything you feel uncomfortable with,” I offered, pointedly aware both of the beautiful filly in front of me and of the sociopath next to me.
“No, Ms. Dino,” Sherlock suddenly exclaimed. He had an unfocussed look on his face, and I knew where this was going. I closed my eyes in dread as he began swaying, almost imperceptibly. “Please, continue…”
“She… I’m sorry, just… she told me that there was a farm there, and, and stallions, and I just had to turn around and… and I turned around, and she…”
I could almost see it – poor, poor Dino, held at the mercy of this – this bull-dyke – and I was consumed with a fiery rage against all cow-kind. But as I lingered over the details of this monstrous crime, I was started by too black legs suddenly appearing on wither side of me. I had forgotten about Sherlock; how had I managed to do that?
“And I felt something big and uncomfortable touching me th-there, and… I, I think it was her hoof. I just sort of froze, I didn’t know what to do…”
I too froze, although I knew exactly what I should be doing. But as Sherlock’s strong body collapsed over my hind-quarters, I knew it was too late. All that was left for me was to lean my head to the side, and…
“And she started out slow, but, I could feel it, first at my entrance, then it was inside of me, and I though she would never stop, she… she was in knee-deep, and, and then, she started pulling out…
Sherlock, of course, had been in and out several times – I had already lost count – and I started losing track – was I John H Studson, private detective and blogger, being taken by the lover I didn’t know how to hate, or Dino, dear sweet Dino, violated slowly, passionately, by a musclebeast who knew only the call of her libidinous hoof. And as these two images began to swim together, as I became both mare an stallion in the same shuddering breath, I fell, slowly, from consciousness, and succumbed to the love that I craved, and wanted, and deserved.