CHAPTER 3
NOTE: Yay! It's finally out! Enjoy!
NOTE 2: Chickens don't wear shoes. Keep that in mind.
NOTE 3: This is probably the chapter that mimics "A Study in Pink" the most. Other chapters hopefully won't.
"So, John, where's the site of the first murder?" Sherbock asked excitedly, looking over at the map from the file.
"Calm down, Sherbock," John clucked. The taxi we're on is headed for it." He ruffled his feathers.
"Really?" Sherbock's eyes had a hyperactive light in them and he was bouncing up and down in his taxi seat like a little chick.
John had no response as he face-winged in frustration. Sherbock could be an enormous pain in the vent sometimes. He decided to keep his beak shut for the remainder of the taxi ride as Sherbock continued to pester him like a chick who had just eaten a bag of candied beetles.
A few minutes later, the black cab pulled up at a flat surrounded by caution tape and police cars with their lights and sirens on.
"Are you sure this is the right place?" the cabbie asked suspiciously. "It looks like someone's been murdered here!"
It was Sherbock's turn to keep his beak shut. John sighed. He'd have to explain to the cabbie why they were here.
Ten minutes later, John had successfully convinced the skeptical cabbie that they were detectives at the crime scene and paid the tartan-capped rooster nineteen pounds. Sherbock resumed his excited state and was flapping his wings in John's face. John was almost at his breaking point, but he remained silent.
Sherbock lifted the caution tape with one wing. John went under first, wings deep in his pockets.
At the door of the flat, a small beige-feathered hen was talking with another chicken dressed in coveralls.
"Found anything yet?" she asked the coverall chicken. The rooster shook his head. Then the beige hen turned and noticed Sherbock and John.
"Hello, freak," she said to Sherbock, her cluck tinged with derision. "You've come?"
Sherbock paid no attention to the sarcasm in the hen's voice. "Hello, Sergeant Bawkovan. Lovely day, isn't it?"
The hen paid no attention to Sherbock's remark. "Freak," she muttered under her breath.
Sherbock pretended not to hear Bawkovan's remark. John felt increasingly awkward about the situation. Before the sassy sergeant could diss Sherbock another time, the rooster and his friend had already gone into the flat.
Sherbock stopped another rooster in coveralls holding testing equipment. "'Scuse me, Mister, but where's the body?"
The coveralled chicken thought for a few moments. "It's upstairs. Go down the hall and it's in the second room down to the right." He pointed up a flight of stairs leading up to the second floor of the flat.
Without another word, Sherbock ran enthusiastically up the stairs, dragging John by the wing. John stumbled on his claws and his spur got caught on a loose nail, which made a small scratch on his toe.
"Stop dragging me up the stairs, Sherbock," John crowed. "You've already made me scratch my foot!"
The two were at the top of the flight of stairs. Sherbock let go of John's wing and happily hopped over to the second room on the right. John halfheartedly followed.
The threshold to the room was blocked off with yellow caution tape, which Sherbock and John went through easily. Three other chickens in coveralls were taking footprints and taking notes.
Inside the room, there was the body of an unfortunate rooster sprawled out facedown onto the carpeted floor. His neck feathers were matted and bloody, a gaping cut exposing the chicken's jugular. The weapon, a butter knife, was stuck up to the handle in his neck. Blood seeped into the gray carpet, turning it scarlet. A wingchair in the corner was torn and the stuffing was coming out. The window just above that wingchair was open, the curtains also in tatters.
"This is gonna be fun," Sherbock clucked quietly. The coveralled chickens gave way to Sherbock as he pulled out a magnifier from his pocket as John quietly watched.
Sherbock examined the body. The dead rooster was wearing a green-and-red striped jumper that was soaking wet, even though it hadn't rained for days in London. On his toe, there was a gold wedding ring, which was tarnished and cracked. Sherbock took the ring off of the dead chicken's toe. The inside was clean and shiny.
"Found anything interesting yet?" asked John, growing a little bit impatient.
"As a matter of fact, I have," Sherbock clucked curtly. "His jumper is wet, but his feathers are dry. That probably means he was somewhere rainy before he came here. And as we all know, chicken feathers are great at repelling water." He paused to take a breath. "The outside of his ring is dirty, but the inside is squeaky clean. This means that he's either very lazy and never bothers to polish his ring, or he's in an unhappy relationship with his significant other. The latter is a lot more feasible."
John nodded, once again impressed by his friend's deduction skills.
Sherbock continued. "I also found a train ticket in his pocket." He held up a small paper farecard. "It says he left from Bristol this morning and got off at London at noon. And guess where it was raining this morning? Bristol!" Sherbock held up his smartphone, which had the forecast for Bristol. The glowing screen said that it had rained that morning in Bristol.
John clacked his beak and looked up from the notes he was taking. "Alright, Sherbock. Don't be such a flashy-feathers."
Sherbock nodded, not paying attention to what John was saying.
Suddenly, Sherbock noticed something. "Look, John. There are a bunch of scratches on the wall." Sherbock pointed his wing toward a series of faint scrapes on the wall next to the window.
John looked closer. "By cluck, you're right! I think they might spell out something." He squinted and looked closer. "R…A…W…K…? Rawk? What the hell?"
Sherbock was confused as well. "Well, for one, it could be a shortening of Rawkuel, or it could be referring to the slang term which means 'to cluck.' Strange."
John nodded and jotted Sherbock's observations down. "Strange indeed."
After John finished his sentence, there was an uncomfortable silence. A coveralled rooster was silently collecting a blood sample from the dead rooster as Sherbock and John stood there awkwardly.
"Y'know," John interrupted uneasily, "I really think Sherbock and I should be going." He stuffed his notepad into his pocket and grabbed Sherbock by the wing. Without another word, the two chickens left.
END OF CHAPTER 3
NOTE: Any suggestions for the next chapter? Ideas would be greatly appreciated in the reviews. Thanks!
