Hello everyone! Robert here, with another story, this time a Sherlock/Five Nights at Freddy's crossover! (Yes, yes, I know- "too many Sherlock crossovers", "get a life", "come up with something new", "FNAF is dead", etc.- just wait, OK? I have a life. Besides, this is going to be interesting. And FNAF is not dead, so deal with it.) This story has been on my mind for some time, and it's going to spread over at least a couple games (although I have challenged myself to make references to all of the first 5 games [FNAF 6 won't be appearing in this story- this story is taking a small turn from that plotline]). This should be interesting.

Also, this story is a bit of an AU, taking place in and around London, instead of Hurricane, Utah. Other than that, everything is the same.

Hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own the TV series Sherlock or the FNAF game series. They belong to BBC and Scott Cawthon respectively.

"Bored!"

A rather apathetic Sherlock Holmes crashed down onto the couch on the side of the flat, much to the annoyance of his roommate, Dr. John H. Watson.

"Bored, bored, bored, bored, bored, bored, bored, bored, bored, bor-"

"BLOODY HELL, SHERLOCK, would you please. SHUT. UP!" shouted John, annoyance clearly in his voice.

"Bu- but I'm bored, John!" Sherlock whined back.

"Yes, I know, Sherlock! I know we haven't had a case in over 2 weeks, and I know you're getting uneasy, but that doesn't mean you have to say it to my face 24/7!"

"Oh, c'mon, John, there has to be something! Can't you go check?"

John sighed in exasperation. "Here, take my phone. We've been receiving a few e-mails lately- surely one of them should interest you!"

Sherlock took a minute to look through the emails, before unceremoniously dropping the phone and saying, "Boring. Solved them all already; where's my nicotine?"

John resisted the urge to wring Sherlock's neck, when suddenly there came a knock from Mrs. Hudson. "Client!"

"Oh, thank you, GOD!" John cried out. "Mrs. Hudson, you're a life-saver."

"Client?" Sherlock asked, raising his head. "Show him in."

"In you go, dear," Mrs. Hudson said, showing in the client, a rather shaky, terrified man, with black hair, blue eyes, a rather average build, and about in his early 20s.

"Which one of you is Sherlock Holmes?" asked the client.

"That would be me," responded Sherlock, sitting up on the couth. "Sit down. What may I help you with?"

"Oh, if only you knew, Mr. Holmes. If only you knew," said the client, sitting down.

"Would you like anything to drink?" asked John.

"Some water would be nice," responded the client, who was standing up and pacing back and forth.

"Mrs. Hudson, would you get this man some water?"

"Of course, John," responded Mrs. Hudson, before going down the stairs.

The client kept on pacing back and forth, fidgeting with his hands and taking deep breaths, for about a minute or so, before Sherlock decided to cut in.

"You are obviously suffering from some sort of trauma, originating from your workplace. Apperently, something is hunting you down, and you are trying desperately to escape it by quitting your job, bot something is preventing you, most likely a contract. You have told your story to the police, and, like the stupid buffons they are, they didn't believe you. So you came here as a last resort. Am I correct?"

The client stopped and stared at Sherlock. "How do you know my story? Who told you?"

"No one did- I deduced it from the cuts and bruises on your body and the way you look. So, now, I need you to tell me what I don't know."

The client sighed and sat down just as Mrs. Hudson came up with a water bottle, and just as Sherlock moved to his seat.

"Thank you miss," he said as he took the water, before he drank almost half of it in one gulp.

Then, with a sigh, he started his story.

"The name is Michael Schmidt, but you can call me Mike. I was born and raised in America, where I had a pretty good life, being raised by a rather well-to-do family. However, when the time came to pick a college, I decided I wanted to study internationally, so I went and chose Oxford University. I was accepted and I plan to major in mechanical engineering. But I needed a job to pay for my expenses, like food, drink, rent- that kind of stuff. So when I saw an ad in the paper for an open night guard position at this place called Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria, I thought my problems were solved."

"Wait," John cut in, "Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria? Isn't that the, uh… uhm… *snaps fingers* ah! the pizzeria with the robots, outside of London?"

"That's the one," Mike continued. "Unfortunatly, I got an interview, and landed the job that night!"

"So, what happened?"

"Well, I went to work (obviously), and entered into my office. It was 12 am by this time. Pretty soon, I got a phone ca- no, wait, it was more of a recorded message. I twas left by one of the former night guards in the place- I don't know his name, so I'll call him Phone Guy."

"What did this message say?"

"It stared with the guy saying that he wanted to 'leave me a message to get me started on my first night' (well, duh). He then read the company introduction- and that's when I started having second thoughts about this job, 'cause it said that the company wasn't responsible for death or injury, and, when discovered, a missing person report would be filed within 90 days, and not until the entire building… basically got an overhaul. Then Phone guy proceeded to shake it off as nothing. And that's not all- apparently, there was some incident called the "Bite of '87" (somebody lost their frontal lobe). And I began to regret getting the job. And it only gets worse."

"How?"

"He started talking about the animatronics there. Apperently, they are left in a free-roaming mode at night, so that their servos don't get locked up or something (I heard they used to be able to do the same during the day, too). The thing is, that, after hours, they won't bee seeing anyone inside the Pizzeria as a person (according to Phone Guy), but as a metal endoskeleton without his costume. So, if they caught you, they would try to forcefully stuff you in a suit (or, in other words, kill you.) And… and they d-don't tell you these things when you sign up!"

"That would be a bit of a business breaker, wouldn't it?"

Mike was obviously close to tears.

"I… I honestly thought it was a joke, that they were just pranking the new guy or somethin'! But then… I looked into those cameras (those damn cameras)… a-and Bonnie was gone from the stage!"

"Bonnie?" John asked.

"Bonnie the Bunny," Sherlock responded. "He's one of the four animatronics at Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria."

"Yes," Mike said, his voice shaking, "and for 3 nights, they've been terrorizing me, hunting me down, trying to k-kill me!"

"Well, can't you just quit?" John asked.

"NO! When I signed up, I signed a contract, that stated that I had to work there at least 5 nights before I can quit! And I've only worked 3! And I can't just sue the company- I ain't got nothin', I'm just a lowly night guard! And I've gone to the police already like you said, Sherlock, and they didn't believe me- they thoguth I was just some crazy person who was high on drugs! I almost got arrested! You're my last hope, - I don't know who else to turn to! Please jelp me figure out what is going on? How do I get out of this? Please help! Pl-"

Mike suddenly broke down sobbing at Sherlocks feet, which continued for a couple minutes.

Sherlock, meanwhile, his eyes closed, his hands steepled on his face, and not noticing the desperate man who was dirtying his feet, took a few minutes to reflect on Mike's story, before opening his eyes, putting his arms on his lap, leaning forward, and asking, "Who owns Freddy Fazbears?"

By this time, Mike had calmed down significantly enough and was back in his chair. "Uhm… I… I think it's Fazbear Entertainment, Inc. …yeah, that's what Phone Guy said was the company."

"I see," Sherlock responded. "Well, I'm sorry to say this, Mr. Schmidt, but you're trapped. Now, I wan't you to listen very carefully to what I'm about to say. Whatever you do, do not return to work. If anyone calls you and make's threats against your life, family, public image, or other, hang up and tell me immediately."

"But what if they come to my place?" Mike asked.

It was at this moment that Mrs. Hudson came up with some tea.

"Well, I do have a spare room that you can stay in," she said.

"But aren't you just the maid?"

"Oh! I'm also the landlady! And don't call me a maid, young man."

"Bu-"

"Don't worry about the rent, Mr. Schmidt," Sherlock cut in to disrupt the inevitable argument that was gonna ensue between Mike and Mrs. Hudson. "It's on me. Plus, if you descide to stay here, you will be under my watch."

"Oh, I can't thank you enough, Mr. Holmes! You don't know how much this means to me!" Mike said in relief.

"You're welcome, Mr. Scmidt," said Sherlock, standing up. "I assure you, we will do everything in our power to resolve your case as soon as possible."

"Thank you so much, Mr. Ho-"

"Sherlock, please."

"Thank you so much, Sherlock," said Mike, standing up, to follow Mrs. Hudson. "I am eternally grateful to you."

"Nooo problem," replied Sherlock.

As Mike followed Mrs. Hudson to his new room, he couldn't help but think about everything that had transpired. And with that, he began to feel hope. Hope for the first time in 3 days. Hope that he could survive this. Hope that everything was going to resolve. Could he actually find a way out of this mess?

And there you have it- the first chapter of The Mystery of Five Nights! This story promises lots of mystery and exactment, so be prepared… you never know what might pop up….

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