So yeah, another chapter fiiiiiiiiiiiiiinaly up! Soz' for the long wait, but school has been hectic lately (year 11 and all:) and it was difficult to find time to write.
Thanks a million for the patience!:)
It was safe to say that Sherlock was in a bad mood. Mary going into Labor completely slipped past his mind. It wasn't that important, anyway- infants were born every nano-second after all which did terrible things to the traffic.
John and Mrs Hudson were down at the hospital now, leaving Sherlock alone in 221B.
That was fine with him- he needed to think without Mary and John sucking face every five minutes.
Scott Cawthon was the Purple Guy, that much was obvious. But how could he prove that to everyone? Most important of all, how could he prove it without Scott Cawthon releasing those tapes about Sherlock talking about My Little Pony?
I can't believe I just thought that! Scot Cawthon- he's driving me insane! Sherlock thought.
Sherlock realized he could take a leaf out of Cawthon's book and hack into Scotland Yard's Tape Recording Database. That would take care of the blackmail issue. Now he just needed to search for evidence that would link Scott Cawthon back to the murders…
An idea presented itself in Sherlock's head.
What if there was proof hidden inside the game? After all, Mycroft was oh-so convinced that there was.
It would not be the first time one of these self-proclaimed 'criminal masterminds' had tried to leave a deliberate, self-destroying fact to test him (Goldfish were so stupid- didn't they know that Sherlock couldn't be tricked?), though the last time he had allowed himself rest on that assumption, it had led him to performing an unpleasant amount of falling.
But all the same, Scott Cawthon was no Moriarty- he was not that brilliant even if Cawthon liked to think so, and there was no harm in clueing for looks in the game again.
But first thing's first- time to hack into Scotland Yard.
It was surprisingly easy to do, but when Sherlock was going through all the recording files, looking for the right one, the computer froze.
What the…?
Suddenly, a gif of Scot Cawthon shaking his head and jiggling a finger in disappointment popped up.
"Stupid Goldfish," Sherlock muttered in annoyance. So much for retrieving the recording files…
Sherlock rebooted his laptop and went on YouTube. He decided to look at some more walkthrough footage.
After several hours of watching tedious jump scares of people pretending to be scared and a disgusting amount of extremely flawed conspiracy theories, he had come to a two conclusions.
One, the fanbase for this game needs to die a painfully slow agonizing death and two, he would need to do his own research.
Sighing, he opened John's Laptop, it took him less than ten seconds to guess the password (mAry.02).
Opening up the game, he was met by the usual flashing endoskeletons, but something quite different happened when he pressed the 'New Game' button, the flashing Endoskeletons had been replaced with a single hyper realistic purple head.
It was the Purple Guy.
Sherlock rolled his eyes.
Instinct compelled him to slam shut the laptop, his natural curiosity shut down that idea, and instead he used his raised arm to hit the screenshot button.
He immediately analyzed the screen, John's proud Three Star's for completing the legendary 20/20/20 mode were still there, in fact the entire screen was disgustingly mundane apart from the large purple head, but then Sherlock noticed it. The normal "Continue, 7th night" was no longer present.
It had been replaced with a large, emboldened font loudly proclaiming "Night 8".
Sherlock sighed.
Why did these self-proclaimed "Super thinkers" always leave deliberate clues to ensure he finds them? It spoiled all of the fun.
He sighed again and pressed the "start game" button lazily. If this Scott Cawthon was so insistent on being caught then so be it.
The screen went blank, and the most horrifying sound in the world filled 221B.
My Little Pony, My Little Pony, what is Friendship all about? My Little Pony, My Little Pony, Friendship is magic! My Little Pony, I used to wonder what Friendship could be. Until you shared it's magic with me…
Just when Sherlock was about to throw the Laptop out onto Mrs Hudson's bins, the music stopped and Foxy the Pirate Jump-scared him, making him jump.
"Really gotta stop doing that," Sherlock muttered. The screen went black again before fading to the night guard's office. Sherlock had no doubt that he was about to witness proof of Cawthon's crimes. And most likely, Cawthon had hacked into John's laptop and was watching him closely. Perhaps there was something he could do about that….
Quickly, Sherlock put the laptop down and raced to the kitchen. He opened a draw and took out a roll of masking tape.
Returning to his chair, he put some masking tape over the webcam.
Try spying on me now, stupid Goldfish! Sherlock thought smugly. But he needed something more… Something to capture the evidence…
The Reichenbach Fall randomly popped into Sherlock's head.
Of course!
He sprinted into his room and came out with a small camera.
It was the same camera that the assassins had used to try and get the Computer Keycodes off him in the Reichenbach Fall.
The camera was called AssassInc 5000, one of only 125 ever made, and if you didn't have the postcode or you weren't Mycroft Holmes, it was virtually in-hackable.
After Syncing the camera up to his own laptop, Sherlock hit the flight mode button on.
Pleased with his work, Sherlock aimed the AssassInc 5000 at John's laptop and hit record on his own laptop.
Scott Cawthon, you're in for a nasty surprise! Sherlock thought smugly. On John's laptop he started to flicker through the cameras, looking for something out of the ordinary. He was flickering through the cameras so quickly that he almost missed it. Except that he was Sherlock Holmes- he didn't miss anything.
On the kitchen camera where there was no footage was a purple light flashing in the lower right hand corner. Frowning, Sherlock clicked on it. The purple dot expanded until the whole screen was covered.
ENTER PASSCODE
were the two words that popped up next to a green box.
It took Sherlock less than a nano-second to figure out the passcode. He quickly typed in the passcode.
1987.
He grinned. Sherlock knew the Bite of '87 was an important!
INCORRECT. PLEASE TRY AGAIN.
Sherlock's grin quickly turned into a scowl of annoyance.
"Dirty Goldfish," he cussed. He quickly typed in the correct passcode.
1789.
The bite of 87' in numerological order. The purple faded and went back to the kitchen camera. But something was different. Something was so very very different.
What he was seeing… what he was watching…
It made Sherlock's mouth fall open and his eyes go wider then what they were when he saw Irene Addler naked.
Because there, in the kitchen, was footage.
"Sweet-Holy-Mother-of-all-Goldfish!" Sherlock gasped.
