It took Sherlock awhile to fall asleep, but when he did, strange dreams came to him. Although at first, he didn't realize he was dreaming.
In his dream Sherlock wore the same outfit that had become his public image- heavy black coat, his favorite scarf and that stupid deerstalker/killer-death-Frisbee hat on is head.
He found himself in very unfamiliar surroundings, it was some sought of funhouse of winding corridors, adorning the walls were pictures of "cute" and "friendly" blocky looking animatronics, any child or john would no doubt find the image of them cute, but an educated mind like His own recognized for them for what they were at first glance.
Abominations of everything that was logical in this world.
He paced forward, trying not to glance at the posters on all the walls- posters of the animatronics doing bad things to children. He came upon a wall of dark purple curtains covered in bright stars.
He pulled the curtain back and out burst the face of one of the animatronics-Freddy?- that had adorned the walls.
He quickly stumbled backwards as Freddy's body slinked out from behind the curtain- except it wasn't Freddy's body.
Sherlock quickly realized that the figure that had jumped out at him was only wearing a mask. The figure also wore a suit.
"Hello, Sexy, scared by loud noises?" a familiar voice asked. Sherlock frowned, and then the figure removed his Freddy mask and Sherlock gasped. It was Jim Moriarty!
"Where am I? How are you here?" Sherlock asked his voice wavering if only for a second.
"And there you go again, asking obvious questions. Take a look around and make your own deductions- you're meant to be good at that," Moriarty said mockingly as he pulled his mask fully away.
Sherlock took a deep breath and looked around.
He realized exactly where he was two seconds later.
"Freddy Fazbear's Family Diner," Sherlock said simply.
"Well done you can use your eyes. But now answer your second question."
"Your dead."
"No shit, Sherlock! A good start, so what does that tell you?"
"I'm dreaming."
"CONGRATULATIONS!" Moriarty yelled clapping his hands together, multi colored stars flew out of his hands.
"I don't dream." Sherlock stated, irritated.
"Well, you're dreaming now, Sexy," Moriarty sniggered.
"Yes, but why?"
"I don't know- you're the one dreaming. But I'll tell you what I think. I think that perhaps your brain senses that something it up with the game, Five Night's at Freddy's, but poor Sherlock is well behind it."
"What are you talking about?"
"You're on the side of the angels- how could you possibly understand?" Moriarty asked, dragging his voice out.
"WHAT, do you mean?" Sherlock asked.
Moriarty put his face in his hands.
"How have you not figured it out? It's more than just a simple game, SOOO much more then that. Scott Cawthon, the little genius who made this game, is definitely much more cunning then ordinary people but I wouldn't have thought that he could surpass even the Great Sherlock Holmes. Guess I was wrong," Moriarty sounded almost disappointed.
"No, it's a simple, ridiculous game about animatronics trying to kill an exceptionally dim night guard," Sherlock insisted.
"Perhaps, but I get the feeling you don't really think that," Moriarty grinned. Sherlock didn't say anything to that.
"Take the case, Sherlock…"
"What case?"
"The game. Play the game. Things are not always what they appear to be…"
Sherlock let out a sigh.
"Where's the exit?" he asked. Moriarty frowned.
"I want to get out of this dream. Where's the exit?" Sherlock explained. Moriarty smiled.
"Ah, yes. Behind you," he said.
"Thanks," said Sherlock.
"Anytime."
As he went through the exit, a cold hand gripped his arm, and pulled him forward…
and then Sherlock awoke in a cold sweat.
When Sherlock went down for breakfast, he found Mycroft sitting in his spot.
"Dear Brother-"Mycroft began.
"Mycroft, vacate my seat before I throw my shoes at you," Sherlock snapped. Mycroft raised an eyebrow and stood up.
"I take it you finished your temper tantrum?" Mycroft asks.
"Shut up, Mycroft," Sherlock snapped. Mycroft shrugged. John was already at the table, reading a newspaper, a plate of bacon and eggs in front of him (courtesy of Mrs. Hudson, of course)
"So, Sherlock, Mycroft has something to say to you," John said through a mouthful of bacon.
"Of course," said Sherlock. He favoured Mycroft with a glare.
"Sherlock, I need you to play the game Five Night's at Freddy's," Mycroft said.
"No."
"Why do you need him to play it?" John asked over his coffee mug.
"It is a matter of national-"
"Why does this coffee taste funny?" John interrupted.
"It had a human eyeball fluid in it- I was dissecting an eye yesterday, remember? Your real coffee is on the bench," Sherlock answered. John left the room, almost certainly to throw up, leaving Sherlock and Mycroft alone together. Mycroft sighed.
"It is a matter of paramount interest to the government." Mycroft stated simply.
"I become less interested the more you talk, why should I care what your group of professional blustered do?"
"Scott Cawthorn, the creator of the game has recently come under suspicion for murder. He is a world renowned computer hacker, accused of several accounts of murder, but the trouble is, we don't have enough evidence to put him behind bars. That's where you come in," Mycroft gave Sherlock a sharp-toothed grin.
"We believe he's left clues in his game Five Night's at Freddy's about one of his recent murders. Sherlock, play the game and solve the mystery behind it."
Now Sherlock was interested.
"Why don't you do it yourself?" He asked.
"I'm an important person, Sherlock. I have a whole country of Goldfish to run- it can't very well can't run itself."
"Sounds interesting. O.K, Mycroft, you win. I'll play the game."
"Really?" Mycroft asked, surprised. Sherlock nodded and then gestured to John's laptop, which was still open onto the game.
"The game, Mycroft, is most certainly on," Sherlock grinned.
