When Luck Runs Out

Some Things You Just Can't Kill

There was a blast of the warm air, and then the horses started to move. I clutched John's hand, not only because I had to but because I was scared, scared beyond what I'd want to admit. I think this was the moment the veil broke, and as the pale white horses walked into the stadium, the weight of being a tribute once more smashed onto my shoulders. The crowd screamed so loud I would be shocked if District Twelve heard it, flowers were thrown, pictures taken, and tears shed, but John and I did what we were told and didn't look up. I could feel the crown on my head getting lighter and lighter as the horses marched on, leading us in this public death march. I was a tribute once more, I was in the games with the only boy I had managed to love, and I was not getting out alive. I clutched his hand harder, feeling a tear slip from my eye and smear my makeup on its way down my cheek. I was never going to see my parents again, I was never going to see Mycroft (shame, I know), I would have to rewrite my will, I would feel the pain of death, see what lied behind the veil, it was all over now. It might have been my imagination, but I thought I heard Mrs. Hudson and Molly screaming through the crowd, telling us to keep staring at the sleek black carriage, to look sad, to hold hands. The sad part came naturally really. We were broken kings, riding upon what used to be the throne of victory, and that was being hacked to pieces, and as we were announced as tributes once more to the public, the crowns we held so high were dissolving every step the horses took, closer to the dictator in white, looming over the crowd. The horses walked into our place in the circle and stopped, shaking their heads but not making any sounds. I took a look around, seeing Greg and Jeanette in their carriage, dressed in suits of color, maybe resembling wires, and they were sparking every so often, so much that they were a potential fire hazard. I could only see the backs of the upper districts, but some, I noticed, had no females, and some had no males. There was a really tough looking man form the third carriage, occupying a smaller dark haired man, there were two girls from one, both who looked tough enough to take down both the three men, and from district two there were two victors, both looking lethal even from behind. The costumes kind of dulled down the toughness of them, especially since the District One horses were dressed as pink poodles. John and I shook off the tiny piece of metal now lingering in our hair and threw them down into the carriage just as Snow's tyrannical voice started over the microphone.
"Welcome, Tributes, Victors, Escorts, and Citizens, to the 75th annual Hunger Games, and Quarter Quell! To all of our participating victors, the deepest of sympathies, but as you must understand, it is necessary. The power of the Capital does not end as you exit the arena, and no one is above the law. Not even myself." Snow decided. What a big lie, you're not going to throw yourself in those games are you? Not going to add your name to the slips of paper just waiting to be pulled, their human counterparts lining up to be slaughtered... I could just feel my anger increasing, my heart rate going up, I was having another withdrawal, perfect time to. I just blocked out Snow's words, focused on my breathing, in through the nose, out through the mouth, keep calm, keep collective. Still, my free hand balled into a fist and my vision was slightly clouded. I couldn't tell you how much I just wanted to jump out of the carriage and bash the stupid Snow's brains out on the banister. That's what he deserved, he killed so many people, it was time he got a taste of his own medicine.
"Sherlock, you're killing me." John whispered out of the corner of his mouth. I suddenly realized I was gripping John's hand so hard that it was slowly turning purple.
"Sorry." I muttered, loosening my grip but not letting his hand go.
"...Best of luck tributes, and may the odds be ever in your favor." Snow announced, and the crowd cheered and made noise and the horses proceeded back in the lineup, exiting the stadium. The parade was over. I kept taking deep breaths, but the lack of Snow's stupid voice helped a lot.
"Are you okay?" John whispered.
"No." I muttered.
"Well, stay in character." He hissed as the carriage started to move once again, holding my hand and looking somberly down. I got his with several flowers as we went on, one sticking to my curls since I no longer had my crown on. As soon as the carriage stopped the doors closed, and I hoped right off and leaned up against the carriage, catching my breath and trying to look as if I wasn't dying inside. All of this trauma, these nightmares, they'd increase tonight because now I wasn't looking back on the games, I was anticipating them. What would be our arena, what did I train for, who did I make allies with, who should I fear? How long could I keep John alive before something happened, how long could I offer him my protection?
"Sherlock are you okay?" John asked, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder.
"You already asked me that." I pointed out, opening my eyes and staring straight at the black metal.
"And obviously you weren't lying." John agreed.
"It's happening all over again." I pointed out.
"Well, yes." John agreed.
"Stop John, just stop talking to me, please." I insisted.
"Oh no, it's not this again? I'll ask Molly if she happens to have any morphine still in her purse." John decided.
"I said STOP TALKING TO ME!" I screamed, echoing off of the walls and making all noise and commotion cease. Even the horses stopped their clopping around. John didn't look very fazed, in fact, he looked slightly annoyed, but he did as I said and stopped talking, although he was tapping his foot a bit aggressively, to see how long it would take for me to crack open once more. I felt it, I felt the wall in my head start to break, the door was straining on its hinges, the lock twitching... Soon the boy would be there...
"Sherlock, John, that was wonderful!" Molly exclaimed, prancing over with Mrs. Hudson.
"Not now, he's having an episode." John muttered, thinking that he couldn't hear me. I just stayed still, staring at the carriage.
"Well we should probably get back then, before we cause an unnecessary scene." Molly decided, looking around to see if anyone was watching. Of course, they all we.
"Too late for that I'm afraid." John sighed.
"Sherlock come on, we're going home now." Mrs. Hudson decided. I took a long, deep breath, but stood up tall so that I towered over them, in my rightful place. Hopefully they took that the right way, that I didn't want to fight, I wanted to get home and get my drugs. The ones they didn't know I had. Mrs. Hudson took me by the shoulders and lead me to the train, which was still stationed in our little train stop. We went inside and the doors closed, all of them sitting down unnecessarily. I stayed standing, clutching onto the bar and wanting very much to suddenly get superpowers, to melt the metal through my fingers. At the moment it felt like I could, if I concentrated enough.
"We're almost there Sherlock, stay strong." Molly insisted.
"What do you think I'm doing?" I growled.
"It's not as bad as the one before though, is it?" John asked uncertainly, probably remembering my violence. The door was cracking, slowly, light was making its way through, memories, small memories. I saw myself, when I was little, a scrawny tall kid sitting under the apple tree, trying to read the books I had stolen from my brother. I saw the bullies come from the shadows, pelting me with rocks and laughing hysterically, running, hiding, pain... "Get us back, NOW!" I screamed, holding the bar with two hands as the door cracked even more. My Reaping, Sherlock Holmes, my mother's tears, my father's somber face, my brother's blank expression. He could've gotten me out, he could've volunteered, but he didn't care enough, he sentenced me to this hell... I sunk to my knees, groaning with the effort to keep the mental door shut, it was happening again. I heard Molly trying to say calming words, John trying to get closer but Mrs. Hudson pulling him away, they thought I was a monster, that I was about to attack. Well they were right. I was a monster, I was a murderer, and I would have to kill once more. The man, the District Eleven man, clawing to my clothes, begging me for help, for protection, his brains sprinkling the ground, his thoughts, memories, emotions, all flying through the air like bloody confetti...
"Sherlock it's okay, it's alright, they're just thoughts, you can control them, you can make them what you want them to, remember the good things!" Molly insisted. But there were just too many bad things, too many memories, too much hate, gore, and violence... The door burst and everything went black, but I could hear him, somewhere, either in my head or in real life, that maniacal laugh as he pulled out the hunting knife, ready to butcher me like a deer...
"Help!" I hissed, falling against the seat and hearing it louder, it was coming closer, louder... He came closer and closer, fighting through the tangled vines and roots, trying to get to me, his prey.... The train stopped and doors flew open, there were spectators outside, paparazzi taking pictures.
"Close the doors!" Mrs. Hudson screamed, but the driver, if there was one, didn't hear. I heard his laughter, but it wasn't in my head, it wasn't in the train, he was there, in the crowd, I saw his smile, I saw his face, his eyes, completely black, the blood running down his forehead, laughing at my helplessness. I gave a scream of anger, it ended here, this was where I killed my biggest fear, the one man I could never outlive, never get rid of, I could get him now. I pushed Molly aside, who was trying to comfort me, and bolted out the door, through the thin line of peacekeepers, mostly trying to keep the paparazzi back, not so much the tributes in. My cape flowed behind me as a jumped the barrier, my legs just barely clearing the thin yellow gate.
"Sherlock come back!" John screamed. The boy, he was there, he was there, the people were fleeing in fear, screaming, running, he was laughing, he was still laughing... I clutched my ears, not going to fall for this, not going to stoop to this level...the blood was running down his face, from his eyes, drops pouring from his mouth, dangling and dripping from his stained teeth... I was going to kill him again.
"SHERLOCK!" Molly screamed, fighting the peacekeepers to try to contain me. I was tackled from behind, hitting my chin hard on the concrete floor, the boy was there, just there, I could see his mud stained combat boots.
"Giving up so easy are you Sherlock?" he laughed, taking a step back as I tried to reach, but my arms were being cuffed together, I was crushed under the weight of three peacekeepers, I did my best to squirm, kicking out, trying to get a good blow, but these people weren't John, against them I was defenseless. I shrieked in agony, he was so close, but no matter how close I got I would only be farther. And then everything went black.