Context: the following is a short, rejected epilogue I had planned for my Holmes/FNAF crossover, "The Bite of 1887." In the end, my brother liked it but wanted more. Maybe one day I'll write the longer sequel he wants. Until then, that story is standing as is and this epilogue is falling into the rubbish pile.

EPILOGUE

(because my brother was upset with me for killing Watson and wanted more).

Please Note: this takes place during the ending of pizzeria simulator. If you want to know what's going on, I suggest watching FootofaFerret and MatPat's "Everything you need to know about FNAF" video on YouTube. There's where I got all my information. If you don't know what's going on, don't worry about it. Fans of the franchise don't even know what's happening most of the time anyway.

Sherlock Holmes was sweating profusely, his hair sticking to his forehead and his palms slick with sweat so much so that the lantern he held nearly slipped from his grasp. He heard movement to his right, and he held the lantern to the vent on that wall quickly opening the shutters and flashing the enemy that was inside the vent stalking him. The creature hissed and retreated; Holmes didn't even know which one it had been. Holmes set the lantern down, wiping his hands on his trousers as he heard a noise from behind him. He turned quickly, pulling a lever to slide the door to his office shut.

He had been at this for nearly six hours now; watch the vents, watch the door. Flash. Hide. It was seemingly unending, and he was nearly at his limit. Would they ever stop coming after him? He held the door shut as long as he could before letting the lever go and picking his lantern up again. Every muscle in his body was aching, and it was so hot in there it was getting hard to breathe. Finally, he heard the voice of a human… sort of. He opened the door for Michael, and the young man slipped in.

"It's over," Michael panted. "It's done. Are you alright?"

"Yes," Holmes sighed, "though I assure I'm glad I don't have to stay here as bait anymore."

As if on cue, they heard Henry's voice reverberating throughout the building, addressing the occupants.

"Go," Michael said as Henry talked. "There isn't much time."

Holmes shook his head. "I'll stay here with you. It's fitting that it all ends here."

"Mr. Holmes," Michael said with a very sad smile, "Look at you. You are still human." He took Holmes hand in his own, raising them in front of their faces.

Holmes raised his other hand, folding it on top of Michael's cold, dead, one. It was purple with the decay of death, but somehow Michael wasn't able to die yet.

"My father is here," Michael rasped. "My sister is here. It is very probable that my brother is here. Henry's daughter is here. He will remain. I will remain as well. But you, you must go."

"My brother is here, too," Holmes said, closing his eyes briefly and shuddering. He would never forget the day Watson's frontal lobe was bitten off by Ferguson Fredbear. He had tried to defend his friend, and had beaten the animatronic until it's jaws released Watson, but the damage had been done. Watson's blood and a black goo from Ferguson had been covering him as he picked Watson up and rushed him to the hospital. He'd insisted that they keep Watson's body alive even as he hunted the second original owner, William Afton. Afton was the man in purple who had been responsible for the five missing children, all of whom had been found dead, stuffed inside Ferguson Fredbear mechanicals. That was how he met Michael Afton, William Afton's son. They hunted his father together, eventually joining forces with Henry to bring all the mechanicals that possessed souls along with William Afton together in one place. That was where they were now.

Watson was also here. Henry had convinced him to allow Watson's body to die. The doctor's death agony had been somehow harnessed by Henry to power a new mechanical bear designed to help catch the marionette which contained the soul of his daughter. It was all a lot to take in, and Holmes wasn't quite sure how it worked, but here they were. It was finally ending. The room was heating up already, and Holmes knew Henry had started all the fires he had set up. It was time to burn this all to the ground.

"You're still human," Michael reiterated. "Go. Remember us. Tell our stories. Don't let something like this happen again."

Holmes nodded, squeezing Michael's hand. "Rest your spirit," he told the young man.

"Thank you," Michael whispered. "Please, don't feel sorry for me. This is where I want to be. I know you want to stay as well, but you must go. Please. For all of us."

Holmes nodded again, turning and retreating. Michael deserved to relish his victory alone and to be alone with the final contemplation of his mind. Holmes moved through the halls as the place began to reach stifling temperatures. He paused in front of one door. Through the window he could see the bear Watson's agony had brought to life. Did it carry a piece of his soul? Holmes closed his eyes, not wanting to contemplate that. Watson's soul deserved to rest. They all did.

The temperature was still rising, and Holmes knew he needed to leave soon else he'd be roasted alive with the rest of them. He glanced towards the exit, and then back towards the bear. He wanted to stay, to let this all end. But he had a feeling Michael was right. It was time to live. He knew it was, and the door was in sight. He would get there, would escape, just as soon as he could uproot his feet from the floor and tear his eyes away from the mechanical bear. When he could. If he could. And the temperature rose and smoke filled the corridor and the door was still in sight.