The little caterpie was laughing, hanging from a thin thread of sticky silk. Crawling up the tree trunk beside it was a tiny weedle, squealing as the caterpie accidentally swung into it a couple of times.
"Stop iit! I wanna get da berry!" the weedle squeaked. Caterpie giggled and released its web, falling to the ground.
"Silly, you can't get a berry by yourself! You need your ma and pa!" Caterpie teased her friend while following it up the rough bark of a pecha berry tree. They raced up the tree in the rolling motion of all larvae, slowly in human terms but at their top speed in practice.
"I'm gonna get there first! You watch!" the weedle stated smugly. It crawled with greater speed than before, overtaking its friend eagerly. Caterpie scrunched itself up in a huffy gesture and watched enviously as Weedle reached the lowest branch laden with the deliciously sweet pink fruits.
"Watch me! Watch me!" the bug cried smugly and crawled to the closest berry.
Caterpie did watch, but only for a few seconds. A loud noise distracted her, and she looked away from her friend. The thick leaves were obstructing her view of the ground, which for a baby insect was enough to make her very anxious.
Something suddenly shouted "Ember!" in human, and Weedle screamed. Then everything went black, both Caterpie and her weedle friend calling for help desperately.
Weedle slowly woke up, twitching his little sucker feet and blinking blearily. What... why had he been sleeping on the ground like this?
Pain shot through his soft body, and he shrieked in fear and agony. Why was he hurting like this? The last thing Weedle remembered was eating a sweet pecha berry, and then losing his grip on the branch when balls of fire erupted past his head. He had screamed as he fell, and then...
Caterpie!
"Cat! Cat, where are you?" the weedle shouted, raising his top half from the ground and scanning the tree bearing dozens of pecha berries. There was no sign of his best friend, and he wailed, curling into a defensive position.
The air hummed as his parents approached the grove of berry trees, where they had left their son and his best friend to play in relative safety, or so it had seemed. Beedrill had extra sensitive hearing, able to tell the difference between two buzzing beedrill sounds, and though they hadn't heard the first conflict, their son's cries brought the two adult beedrill in a wild hurry.
His mother immediately flew down to make sure her son wasn't injured, while his father scouted around the pecha tree with an angry hum to his wings.
"Ma! Cat is gone!" Weedle sobbed, crawling onto his mother's drill-hand in an effort to rub against her mandibles. The mother beedrill allowed the contact for a few moments, sensing the little weedle's extreme distress.
"What hmmmmmm happened?" asked the father coldly, having finished his search.
Weedle curled around to look at his dad. "We were racing, Cat and I, up to the pecha berries..."
His mother hissed. "You shouldn't go so high without us with you."
Weedle shrank into himself guiltily. "I know..."
"So, hmmmmm, you were racing hmmmmmmm?" his father prompted. It was traditional amongst beedrill to speak like this, though most beedrill these days ignored manners and simply said what they wanted.
"Yeah! Then I won, and I got to the berry, and... fire went past me," blurted Weedle. His mother and father looked at each other grimly.
"Humans. Here," stated the female in a near-angry voice. "Yes, hmmmmm. We must get help hmmmmmm," announced the male in response. "Help? But what creature would help a beedrill? And what creature could not only find out what happened, but also help us to correct the problem?" asked the mother beedrill in a mix of despair and caution. The father beedrill hesitated, glancing at his life-mate.
"There is... Farfetch'd."
He stared up at the patch of blue sky visible through thick branches, rubbing a yellow beak thoughtfully. It was very quiet today.
Behind him, his close friend was enjoying a hearty meal of grubs and berries, the normal fare of any forest creature these days. Neither of them was that partial to meat, anyway; it was actually a crime to be a predator in these parts of the wilderness.
A light humming noise echoed past their tree, and he slid the end of a pipe into his beak with a small smile- so the silence wasn't about to last. Good.
Two bright yellow beedrill appeared over the canopy and sank to the level of his branch, red eyes glinting with an odd mix of emotions. He could see anger, fear and a little awe in the beady eyes of the tiny weedle aboard one of the buzzers.
"Ah, pleasant morning to you. Would you be needing my assistance?" asked the farfetch'd graciously, though their 'roof' was near about destroyed from the hasty entry of his guests. A hoot-hoot hurriedly scrambled to stand next to the taller bird, sensing that there was about to be a break of pace in their already exciting lives.
"Yes, hmmmmmmmm. We need hmmmmmm your help... Holmes," admitted the male beedrill grudgingly. Sherlock pulled the pipe from his mouth, bowed, and replaced it with a flourish. Watson had to hide a smirk by finishing the last grub of his lunch.
"With pleasure, my good fellow. Would you please rest and explain to us what the matter is?" Holmes asked politely, moving back to the veranda of his hole in the tree so the three insects could land. They did so with small sighs; though beedrill seemed tough enough to fly all day, it wasn't easy for something that big to simply hover for hours on end, let alone travel in that fashion.
"Now, tell me your problem and I may be able to help," stated Holmes calmly. The beedrill glanced at each other and the female used her hand-drill to lower the little weedle to the branch. It shrank into itself, looking up at the two imposing birds.
"I-I am Weed, and, um..." trailed off the little bug. Its mother nudged it encouragingly.
"Well, you see, I was playing with my friend in the berry grove..."
"...And then I fell off the branch, and I couldn't see Cat anymore!" wailed Weed. He had been getting more and more upset during the story, ending with tears rolling down his face.
Sherlock turned and walked inside his tree, rolling his tongue over the stem of the pipe and rubbing the finger-like feathers on his wings together. This story wasn't the most interesting he had heard in this forest, but it certainly was urgent. Apparently a human had come into their most secret of places and stolen a baby, probably distressing the family of said baby.
Behind him, John was comforting the wailing weedle with a soft wing and small hoots. "What is your friend's name?" he asked gently, and the weedle sniffed. "Cat. Her name is Cat, 'cause she hasn't growed up enough to get a real name. What's your name?"
"I'm John. My friend is Sherlock, but every calls him Holmes. Don't worry, we will find her!"
"Yes, we certainly will!" stated the farfetch'd with certainty. "Please, go home. We will find this child and get her home, don't you worry. Now I need time to think."
With that, the bird strutted back inside the dark nest and didn't come back out.
"He's always like this. Don't worry. We'll get Cat home, if it catches us," said Watson proudly, as to the wild creatures of this world, being captured was the same as being killed, except you can escape capture with more difficulty than being dead.
The beedrill left promptly, with a warning that they were notifying their own authorities instead of relying on a bird who had no time for them.
"Byyyeeee, John! Byyeee, Mr. Sherlock!" cried Weed as he soared away on his mother's back. Watson waved cheerily, changing the leg he was standing on so swiftly that none but his close friend could ever notice.
"You really shouldn't put them off like that, Holmes. You'll never get more cases if you treat the clients like criminals," grumbled the hoot-hoot as he nestled into a comfortable corner of the nest. Sherlock eyed him over the smoking pipe clamped in his beak.
"Really? I thought I was being quite the gentleman. Never mind, we must go and see the scene of the crime!" he said cheerily, standing and racing for the door. Watson leapt to his foot and hopped clumsily after his friend, only just remembering to pick up his friend's hat in a small, hooked beak.
They flew straight up, fast as arrows, and flapped over the forest canopy until they were at a steady pace.
"What do you make of this, Holmes?" asked Watson, having given the hat to his occasionally absent-minded friend. The bird creased his forehead and went into deep thought, not noticing where he was flying. "Look out!" called Watson, as a couple of ledian burst from the leaves below and started tumbling over and over in mid-air. He was about to shove his friend out of the way, but Holmes simply adjusted his wings, easily avoiding the angry bugs.
"What was that? Oh, yes, the fight. I always notice my surroundings. Really, you should know me better by now!" chastised the amused bird when Watson glared at him with large red eyes.
"Now, as for your earlier question, ponder this; why did a human go into a forest that no other human has ever tried to conquer? And with a fire user, why did it not attempt to capture someone faster, stronger, or simply rarer?"
Watson scrunched up his face with thought. It was a lot harder for him to make connections with events or ideas.
"Er... because they were after a specific person?" he asked feebly. To his surprise, Holmes nodded. "That is one of the only solutions. The other, which I find more likely, is that they are lost, and do not understand the first thing about us, as a kingdom of living creatures. Consider this, Watson; they are powerful enough to defeat one of us with a single attack. This may not seem extreme, when placed alongside the fact that the victim was weak and very young, but even fire users cannot defeat young opponents at the very beginning of their development with a single attack."
"Ah... yes," bluffed Watson, pretending that he understood.
"However, instead of using this phantom fire user to kidnap a far stronger forest dweller as a protector (which would seem very likely, if they could only have their prisoner use ember instead of a stronger attack, leading me to the conclusion that they are not safe by themselves) the human simply took a baby caterpie, as if mistaking it for something useful. No, don't look at me like that; I am not saying that this Cat is useless or not worth saving, simply that she is of no use to a human. Do you understand?"
Watson blinked and glanced down. No, it would still take some time to arrive.
"Ah, I can see that you don't. Never fear, my good fellow; I understand perfectly well my own mind, and we will not be led astray by these conclusions. Ah! It is my good friend, and his squad of imbecilic insects! Let us go and greet him!" suggested Holmes, though he did not wait for an answer.
The good inspector Lestrade was a large, rather doltish ledyba, always followed by a small swarm of flying insects that were so eager to catch a criminal that they often injured themselves in the mad rush of a chase. No, it was best that they did not 'help' during the investigation, though Holmes often felt the need to tease with hidden information and far superior intellect.
"Holmes! Why are you here?" asked Lestrade, ever grouchy at the sight of the brilliant farfetch'd. He didn't mind Watson so much, but the sight of the old soldier often meant that Sherlock wasn't far behind.
"I have been assigned a case by a client, the same as you. Have your boys been destroying the evidence for long?" asked Holmes snarkily. Lestrade grew more red, if it was possible with his cherry carapace.
"Now you listen here! You have no jurisdiction with us, so clear off and let the real crime-fighters do their jobs, you civilian!" he sputtered angrily. Holmes only looked mildly annoyed; he flew past the irate bug with a curt "Cheerio!" and entered the crime scene with Watson close behind.
"Please try not to disturb anything remotely interesting," instructed the detective. Watson tilted his head in that peculiar way owls have, which was his way of nodding.
The farfetch'd flapped his way from one side of the clearing to the other, becoming more annoyed and tense with every circuit. "Ridiculous, lopsided buzzer, clueless civilian," the bird muttered as he inspected the branch from which Weed had fallen.
"What's the matter?" asked Watson from an innocuous patch of grass. Holmes abruptly turned and landed beside the tiny owl, looking a little dejected. "My kind is well known for being able to sense the vibrations in the air, Watson. However, a beedrill buzzing around, disrupting the air with its ridiculously loud wings is the precise thing to make it impossible to read these patterns!"
He paced on the dirt beside the grass, pulling hard on his pipe and making a small cloud of sweet-smelling smoke. Watson knew better than to interrupt; this was when some of the most brilliant things he'd ever heard came from his best friend, when the clues were fresh and the investigation only begun.
Except for this time.
"Well, unless we can somehow see through time, there is no information to be found here," said Holmes sadly. "Come, Watson; let us go and have supper. I know you become quite upset if I do not care for myself during these investigations, and besides, there is no reason to linger."
The two birds were just lying back in their warm nest when a frantic shout brought the ever-wary Holmes to his webbed feet. He rushed to the door, ignoring the deerstalker hat once again, and froze just before exiting. Watson also rushed to his feet, but the larger bird held out a wing to keep him at bay, making no noise except for a hasty "Shhhh!"
Watson couldn't see past the fluffy feathers of his companion's wing, so he shuffled to the other side of the door and peeked out cautiously.
A human girl was wandering around outside, a little blue and tan cyndaquil beside her. In her hands was a struggling green bug, and Watson felt himself gasp at the sight of a terrified and thoroughly captured caterpie. Holmes hushed him quickly, but it wasn't enough; the human froze and looked up at their nest curiously.
The birds felt the tiny feathers on their backs rise slowly, in a deep, primal fear. The wild creatures always felt fear of humans, and they were no exception. The girl's face hardened and she turned the rest of herself towards their home.
"Cyndaquil, ember!" she commanded in a very high-pitched voice.
The cyndaquil lit the fire on its back and shrilled as it spat flaming debris at the branch just outside their nest.
"Hurry, Watson! Fly away! I'll keep the human distracted!" shouted the farfetch'd, immediately swooping down and striking the cyndaquil with his wing.
The human gasped, thrilled. A Pokémon, and one she hadn't seen before. "Um, ember it and tackle!" she ordered. Cyndaquil spat more embers at Sherlock, who had to work hard to avoid each missile. Unfortunately, he was unable to avoid the tackle attack, but he was older and stronger than a little fire creature.
Watson was trying to put out the fire the fire user had started, carrying sand from the ground and kicking it accurately into each spark. His efforts were working, and soon the blaze was under control. He had to pause and wipe a bead of something from his brow with a tired wing, giving him time to notice the battle going on below.
Holmes was using his great manoeuvrability of wing to avoid nearly every ranged attack, and struck back with his wings and beak when forced to fight head-on. The caterpie, Watson assumed it was the elusive Cat, had been watching with fascination the battle, but was now using it as a distraction to escape. He waited until it was almost free of the human's hands, then swooped down and plucked it away like the grubs he and Sherlock had eaten earlier.
The human shouted in surprise and anger, but he was already away. Sherlock grinned around the pipe still clamped in his beak, turning tail and was away before the cyndaquil could figure out what was going on.
Watson angled his wings to soar right next to his good friend, the baby caterpie still clutched in his claws. It was laughing and crying, somehow terrified but extremely happy at the same time. "Excellently done, old fellow. Now we have but one thing left to do. Unfortunately, it will be a lot more complicated than our previous actions," murmured the detective with a little too much enthusiasm. "I'd like you to take Cat back to her family. I have some errands to run; do not go back to our tree until I tell you personally that it is safe. For now, stay with the beedrill family."
With that instruction, he peeled off from the two-bird formation, heading back directly from whence they had come.
Watson peered over his shoulder, watching Holmes disappear. Somehow that deerstalker had made its way back to the old bird's head, and though it must have obscured his vision, Sherlock still loved it.
"Um, excuse me, Mr. Watson? Are you taking me home?" asked Cat awkwardly. It was difficult to speak properly when held in the feet of your addressee.
"Of course, my dear, do not worry. Look- there is the beedrill family below."
He pointed with his free foot, which was tucked away under belly feathers to keep it hidden. Circling above the yellow insects, Watson once again pondered why he so often leapt in to help with these sorts of things. Now he would have to wait here for the detective until he got back from his 'errands'.
Not that it wasn't pleasant to meet some new people.
It took Holmes three days to arrive at the Beedrill Residence, and as it took half a day to travel to and from the Residence, that was two and a half days of doing something that he refused to talk about. The great bird simply landed in a flurry of dead leaves and a little ash from his pipe, the typical deerstalker on his head and an odd new outfit resting over his wings and back.
"My dear Holmes, what... what are you wearing?" asked Watson, after spluttering up his drink of river water. The detective looked rather smug, deigning not to answer.
"I trust Cat is safe and well?" he asked instead, tucking in his wings and taking off his hat. "Yes, she should be here soon; she and Weed have been staying here twice every day, just in case you came back. They're very grateful, you know."
"Oh, really?" asked Holmes nonchalantly. "Hmm, well that's interesting. Anyway, we must be off. The tree is safe and sound, though Mrs Hudson won't be too happy about the fire. What a temperamental woman! You would think that I had damaged her precious branch personally!" huffed the detective, frowning over his pipe.
"But Holmes, don't you want to know what happened to Cat?" asked Watson persuasively. He knew that Holmes wouldn't be able to resist learning something, and besides, the old bird probably secretly wanted some adoration that the little bugs were sure to bestow on 'Mr Sherlock'.
"Well... I suppose... we don't need to leave straight away. However, it grows dark, Watson; and murkrow prefer to hunt during the night hours," warned the detective half-heartedly, knowing he was already beaten. They both nestled down, Watson smugly cleaning his face with the remains of the water.
The beedrill lived in a small group of trees, with tiny bridges made between each one for any children born and large, rather intricate cages on top of each tree for the adult beedrill. It was a human falsehood that beedrill lived in hives; those were only the brainwashed creatures, poor souls that had lost their minds and free will, forced to operate as a human illusion that wild creatures were nothing but dumb animals, like the grubs and berries and other living-yet-soulless elements to the world. Holmes remarked on this just before the two children finally made their arrival.
Cat and Weed were closer than ever before, as if being better friends and staying close would repel the human menace. They immediately fell on Holmes, joyfully crawling over his feathers and thanking him profusely.
"Alright, alright," he laughed with real humour at their silly antics. "It's good to see that you have made a full recovery, Cat. Were you not burnt by that little spitfire only three days ago?"
"Yes Mr Sherlock, only, my ma and pa know some really good berries that fix burns and hurts. They didn't hurt with fixing me, either!" squeaked Cat happily. He nodded casually. "So, how did it happen to you? What... was it like?" he asked with gleaming eyes.
She hesitated before talking. Watson felt some unease at having the little girl talk about something so traumatic.
"Well... I was asleep, at first..."
Her eyes opened on a forest, one that was familiar with its plants and colour, but alien in its location. She was nowhere near home.
"Wow! It must be really tough, and I caught it! I'm such a cool trainer!" said the human with enough attitude to choke a milotic. Cat shrank into herself, eyes huge and pink antennae trembling. The girl didn't care, picking her up and walking off with her in enormous, creamy-pink skinned human hands. Cat shook, scared out of her wits.
Something was walking beside the girl, grunting with each awkward step as it shuffled quickly to keep pace. Cat cautiously looked at it, trying not to alert the human to her movements. It was someone she'd never seen before, all small and squishy and blue. Or it looked squishy, until she noticed the circular vents on its back. What were those for?
She could sense herself slowly moving away from her home, and she started to cry.
"Shut up, idiot. You'll piss her off," grumbled the stranger, down by the human's shod foot. She sniffled, startled.
"I'm Difo. What are you?" asked Difo very bluntly. She curled the end of her tail, wondering if talking to the freaky thing was a good idea. It didn't seem insane, though it wasn't trying to run away from the human.
"I-I'm just Cat. I don't have a name yet," she stuttered shyly. Difo just grunted and fell silent.
They kept walking for a while, Cat frozen and sobbing, Difo silent and pensive. Or he seemed thoughtful. Maybe he was just brain-dead.
Something rattled in the grass and bushes in front of them. The human laughed joyfully. "Another Pokemon! I'll be the coolest!" and threw Cat right at it. She bounced off something, landing back at the human's feet and curling into a ball by reflex.
The thing chattered ominously. A yellow leg stepped from the bushes, followed by several others. Suddenly the creature simply jumped from its hiding spot, flying through the air in all its spinarakly glory.
The human girl had been picking up Cat, but the sight of the flying spider made her scream and shriek like a thing possessed. The poor spider was so shocked that it simply escaped in a flurry of insectoid legs.
Something squawked in the tree behind them, making the girl get suspicious and turn.
"...and that was when you rescued me!" Cat said happily.
Holmes shot Watson an exasperated look, which the soldier looked suitably chastised by; it had been very foolish to make any noise when nearby, a human stalked the forest.
"Thank you, Mr Sherlock and Mr Watson! You saved my best friend's life!" said Weed with more than just gratitude in his voice; he had been really frightened by the possibility of his friend being killed- or worse, caught.
"Well... not to worry. It is my job, you know," Holmes said awkwardly. For a very mentally-powerful farfetch'd, Holmes had a weakness for small children, and he always took everything children said seriously. "And I was honoured to help," spoke up Watson, more cheerful than the moment perhaps warranted, making Holmes shoot him a look.
The adult beedrill arrived, having spent the day searching for berries and other foods for their boy. Cat started to head home, which was only a few trees away. Sherlock and John said their goodbyes, taking wing into the gathering darkness.
"But Holmes, what about the human?" suddenly asked Watson, having figured out what had been bothering him all evening. The farfetch'd smirked around his pipe, his strange new outfit flapping fiercely in the breeze.
"She will no longer terrorize the forest, Watson. I have taken care of her... humanely."