When Luck Runs Out

Hometown Horror

The fire was going in his fireplace, I could smell the burning wood as I walked in the house, and it was very inviting.
"Intruder!" John exclaimed, spotting me as he passed through from the kitchen to the living room.
"Yes, I'm here to steal your couch space." I warned, walking to the kitchen to see a steaming mug of hot chocolate sitting on the counter, complete with little marshmallows bobbing up and down.
"Like I didn't know you were coming." John laughed, scooting over on the couch to make room for me. As predicted the fireplace was providing the warmth, the logs crumbling to the roaring fire.
"So, do you know what you're going to say about Irene yet?" I asked, sitting down next to John and letting him lean into my shoulder.
"Is there anything good to say?" he asked.
"Well, you got me there." I admitted with a laugh, sipping my hot chocolate.
"This whole thing is just stupid." John decided.
"It's better than being in the ground." I pointed out.
"True, true, and this is the first winter that I don't have to worry about my name getting picked." John pointed out.
"I just worry about having to go back there and face the whole experience." I muttered.
"You better not fall for this year's tribute, because I will kill you." John warned.
"I fell for the only tribute I could." I assured, kissing the top of his head with a small smile and holding his hand with the hand not occupied with hot chocolate.
"So, how long does this tour take?" John asked.
"This is day one, eleven more to go." I shrugged. "It's mostly just sitting around really, it's not as bad as it seems."
"It seems like rubbish." John pointed out.
"It is." I agreed.
"I didn't know any of these tributes; I had no allies, what makes you think that I can say something good about each one?" John asked.
"Just go on about how much of a tragic loss it is but also how the games remind us of our past and all that." I suggested.
"It only reminds me that we kill off twenty three kids every year, kids that could've had future and families and jobs, it's slaughter that's what it is." John insisted.
"Well, I suppose there's nothing we can do about, so be thankful we made it through alive." I decided.
"Ya, I guess it could be worse." John agreed with a smile, snuggling closer to me and enjoying each other's company. It could always be worse.            

        Molly came and force fed us lunch, some sandwiches she had made last minute, and even though I declined like a thousand times she stayed and made sure I was healthy and what not. Then it was back to base camp, my house, of course, where else would they be? And we got all dressed up with frost bite suits and had to walkover to the town square. The whole group went, even my parents tagged along although the families would be in the crowd and not behind the scenes. There were already people pooling in the square, townsfolk of every type, some with crying babies, some with missing limbs, some with walkers made out of old bedposts. I kind of felt bad for them, they probably wanted to be us, they might think that if you're a victor you've got it all, but they were wrong, and I pity them for thinking that. Being a Victor was horrible, the worst death you get by escaping death, nightmares, paranoia, loneliness, and that terrible feeling that someone is watching you all of the time. Maybe it was just the cameras they forced us to be in front of. In about twenty minutes it seemed as if the entire district had arrived, Irene's family sitting on top of the podium, the only podium in the crowd. I can't express how good it felt to see John's family in the audience on flat ground. The podiums were for the dead tribute's families, they sat up there and a picture of the dead tribute was displayed overhead, so of course Irene's smug smile returned to us as if some nightmare.
"God, I don't miss that." I muttered to John, who slapped me in the arm. We were standing on the side of the stage, peering through a little window into the crowd.
"Be respectful." He hissed.
"Oh come on, we were never respectful when she was alive, and now we have a much better chance that she can't hear us." I defended.
"She's dead Sherlock, we should honor her, not make fun of her." John insisted.
"If I didn't know better I'd say you were Molly with a John mask on." I decided.
"Molly wouldn't fit into this suit." John pointed out.
"Probably not." I agreed. We left our little window and went back to the group, who were now fussing over last minute changes to the outfits and making sure we were looking stunning for our broadcast.
"Alright, we've got five minutes." Mrs. Hudson decided.
"John, you know what you're saying?" Molly asked. John nodded, flipping through his index cards once more and I just rolled my eyes. Those probably said how much of a charm Irene was, how lovely a girl and how tragic a loss. I beg to differ, because I was thinking if she made it back and not John I'd kill her myself.
"And you're on!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed, pushing John out into the stage. The crowd cheered like mad, their third victor, he was kind of a big deal. John smiled and waved and walked up to the microphone as the crowd died down. He took a deep breath, looking at the projected image of her horrible face, and began.
"Irene Adler was my fellow tribute, I knew her not only as a competitor, but as a friend." John started. That was all I heard because I doubled over laughing, the thought of Irene being anyone's friend but her own was too much for me to handle. So of course Molly and Mrs. Hudson kicked me out of ear shot, and I was left in the back of the room with the cleaning supplies, listening to John's muffled, unclear voice talking on and on. There were cheers and stuff and I imagined now he was taking questions, which is something I just skipped when I was victor. Of course people had questions, but I just nodded and answered yes or no, even if it was open ended. I imagined it was only a matter of time before my name came up, which I thought was extremely unnecessary. If John had been with anyone else I doubt they'd care, like some girl from the Capital, but no, since I was his stupid mentor we were more popular than Romeo and Juliet. But then again, I don't think I've ever heard of a famous gay couple, not from the Districts and not from the Capital, so maybe that's why they were eating our love story up. It was something new. Thankfully I wasn't called out onto stage, John walked back inside unharmed and the crowd cheered once more, even though he was gone. Mrs. Hudson and Molly were congratulating him, which I thought was quite unnecessary, but if they thought it was the right thing to do then hell mend them.
"Well I felt stupid doing that." John decided, taking off his jacket and setting it on a pile of boxes near the back.
"But I thought you and Irene were best friends, what happened to those friendship bracelets?" I asked with a laugh. John groaned, slapping me lightly in the arm and sitting on a barrel, kicking his now dangling feet against it and sighing.
"I have a feeling this whole thing is going to be exhausting and very repetitive." John decided.
"You're quite right, when I was a Victor I was so done with cameras that I refused to show up for one of the speeches. Of course all these peacekeepers flooded into the building and pushed me out, but it was still worth it." I shrugged.
"You're a stubborn little jerk aren't you?" John asked with a laugh.
"Yes I am, and proud of it." I agreed. John nodded as I took a seat on the barrel next to his, enjoying the peace and quiet, we were away from my parents and, for once, the other two moms who loved to run around and yell at us.
"I guess we're getting on the train from here." John pointed out.
"I'm all packed." I agreed, nodding at a stuffed duffle bag in the corner.
"With all three hair brushes?" John laughed.
"Oh not this again." I groaned. Last year before the games John had discovered my collection of hair brushes, honestly I didn't know why I had so many but he made sure to torment me about it every time he had a chance.
"One for the top hairs, one for the bottoms, and one to improve curls?" John asked, not bothering to hold back his giggles.
"You're a serious jerk you know that, I don't know why I bother with you." I pointed out.
"Oh come on Sherlock, don't be such a stick in the mud, something's got you down, I can't tell what it is but you seem to be upset." John decided, taking one of my hands and rubbing his thumb over the top. I smiled at his touch, but there was nothing that came to mind that could get me upset.
"I think I'm happier than I've ever been. I've got you, I've got freedom, Mrs.Hudson came in from the Capital, maybe it's the lack of drugs flowing through my system." I decided.
"That was a nasty habit." John agreed.
"You have no idea how hard it was to not have someone with you, all of those nightmares but multiply them ten times, you saw me the night I attacked my bedpost, I was a wreck." I pointed out.
"Still, you could've gone to Molly or Mrs. Hudson for help." John insisted.
"I didn't need to; I had found a solution, morphine. And what did they do when they found out, they confiscated it." I defended.
"That would've been one of the first things I'd have done when I got back as well." John decided.
"Well that's just great, always great to have people nagging you about your pass times." I sighed. John just laughed, ruffling my hair with one of his hands and making me giggle like a little kid. I love it when he did that, because ruffling my hair was something I had made a habit, when I was nervous I'd just run my fingers through the curls for some reason, and now I had John to do it for me, it was definitely a sign that we were soul mates.
"Are you two ready to go, we need to get the train!" Mrs. Hudson called. She and Molly were looking over the schedule, debating on time frames and all of that.
"We're ready!" John agreed.
"Good, it's in the station, follow Sherlock!" Molly called.
"How am I supposed to know where to go?" I groaned.
"I know, don't worry." John assured.
"You're making me look bad." I pointed out.
"You do that yourself." John insisted.
"Offensive." I muttered, pretending to be insulted but nevertheless getting my duffle bag and following John to the station. There was a small send off crowd, including my family and the Watson gang. I waved my goodbyes and John gave his parents hugs, and I caught a little scowl coming my way from the ever lovely Mrs. Watson. Honestly I had no idea what I did to offend her, maybe she just wanted John to end up with someone more emotionally stable, or a little more female, but she better get used to me because I was here to stay. John and I stepped onto the train and it was like I was burst back in time. The fancy foods were all stacked up on the train, the furniture was the same, it was all exactly as it was when John was a tribute and even when I was a tribute.
"Home sweet home." John muttered, dropping his bags on a chair and making his way to the food, where he plucked a cinnamon bun off of the tray and started eating.
"If you get your clothes dirty the stylists will throw you under the train." I warned. John just nodded, not seeming to be very effected by my warning.
"Not hungry?" he asked as he wiped a spare bit of icing off of his face with his hand.
"Not really, all of these horrible memories." I sighed.
"You're telling me." John laughed.
"We first met here, I had to meet the new tributes and you were so scared, I felt so bad for you." I admitted.
"And you scared me to death, I thought that you'd bite my face off if I made a wrong move, or even worse not mentor me at all." John admitted.
"Now why would you think that?" I asked. John just glared, as if the answer were obvious.
"Maybe because your tremendous amount of not caring about anything in the games." He pointed out.
"Fair point." I agreed with a smile. Molly and Mrs. Hudson interrupted our conversation by dragging all of their bags and suitcases onto the train; they very much resembled pack mules.
"Got your house in there?" John asked as he dodged a bag that was swinging freely from Molly's shoulder.
"And mine as well?" I added. Molly just scowled, and John went to help Mrs.Hudson, being the gentleman he was. Being the not so gentleman I was, I sat down on the couch and put my feet up on the coffee table, not in the mood to get unpacked.