When Luck Runs Out

Silver and Gold

    When I woke up it took a moment to process what exactly was going on. It was still dark out, or at least there wasn't much light coming in through the gap in the curtain. John was still asleep; his head snuggled into the crook of my neck and his breath tickling my chin ever so slightly. I didn't dare move, but I knew there was also no going back to sleep once I had taken in my surroundings. So I lay there, trying to block the hideous future from my mind. This was the last time I would be laying here, semi peacefully with John. I didn't want to think about the games, the arena choices, the competition, but I knew that not even the strongest of barriers would stop those thoughts from wading through. They were everywhere, and no matter what I did I had to think about it. The problem would be how to kill myself before John got his chance. If the opportunity presents itself it would have to be me, but how? Driving a sword through myself seemed like the simplest method, but I don't think I had the courage to do that. It probably took a lot more guts than I actually had. Maybe I could jump off a bridge or something? If they had bridges... Drown myself? No, John would just save me. Maybe I should just suicide bomb, run into the Career pack with an explosive down my shirt. My thoughts were thankfully interrupted when John's head twitched ever so slightly, and I knew he must just be waking up. That must be my fault, considering I was moving around a little bit, unintentionally of course, but when you're awake you can't just sit in the same place, and the arm he was laying on was going numb.
"Good morning." John mumbled into my chin.
"Not really." I sighed. John wasn't awake enough to reply; he just mumbled gibberish and sighed deeply. I smiled, he was absolutely adorable.
"What time is it?" John asked. I strained my neck to look at the clock.
"Around five thirty." I sighed.
"When do we have to be at evaluations?" John groaned.
"Twelve." I said with a bit of relief.
"Ah yes, we get to sleep in." John said happily.
"We're both already up." I pointed out.
"Doesn't mean I can't go back to sleep." John insisted.
"Means I can't." I sighed.
"Come on Sherlock, we'll need all the sleep we can get." John said.
"Then by all means, go back to sleep." I insisted, waving my hand carelessly, but also trying to get the blood circulating in it again. John rolled over and squashed his head into his pillow, leaving a very cold spot where he had previously been laying. There was some awkward silence, and John didn't move, and I watched him curiously, wondering if he could've fallen asleep in such a short amount of time, or if he had just suffocated.
"Well great, now I can't sleep either." He groaned.
"Ah, it's an infectious disease." I laughed, rolled over and capturing him in my arms, planting a kiss on his cheek playfully.
"You're just rubbing it in." John insisted, but he was smiling anyway, and his cheeks were getting a satisfying shade of pink.
"I love you." I said again.
"You already said that the other night." John insisted.
"So I can't say it again?" I asked defensively.
"I thought Molly had just put you up to it." he insisted.
"She did that time." I admitted. "But this is all me this time."
"I love you too Sherlock." John agreed.
"With the games and evaluations coming up, I didn't really know when the next time I could tell you would be." I admitted.
"If we weren't going into the games, what do you think we would've become?" John asked.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Would we stay together?" John clarified.
"Of course we would." I insisted.
"Get married?" John asked.
"Well, I suppose if you were into that thing. It's just a paper after all." I shrugged.
"I would have been. It's not so much a paper, but a promise that we'd be together forever." John shrugged.
"We will be together forever." I insisted. "I promise."
"We'll be together for like, a couple of days, tops." John decided.
"There must be a way; maybe the sponsors will pay so much that they could get us both out alive." I decided.
"That's impossible, twenty four go in, only one comes out." John insisted.
"I don't want to think that either way we'll never see each other again." I muttered.
"We will, in the afterlife." John insisted.
"Do you really believe in that?" I asked curiously.
"I believe that there must be something after we die, whether it be heaven, hell, or just blackness." He shrugged.
"I just thought the whole thing was an excuse for the lack of science, and a scare tactic." I decided.
"Then we'll definitely not see each other again." John muttered.
"Well, I'm sure you'll go up." I decided.
"So will you." He insisted. I just laughed, as if that were the most preposterous thing he could've said.
"Even if I'm not sent down for the murders, the drugs might get me, the rudeness, and if all of those homophobes are right, homosexuality is a sin." I pointed out.
"Love isn't Sherlock, I don't care what people say. I'd rather burn in hell with you than sit in Heaven without you." John decided.
"Then let me follow you." I pleaded.
"Not a chance." John insisted. I just sighed, letting my head nestle into his neck and absorb his heat. I really did with there was an afterlife, because even though I was dead, I'd die a thousand more times without him. Our little cuddling moment was ruined when the door swung open. There was a loud lady like shriek and it shut almost immediately.
"I'm so sorry." Molly yelled. "Can I come in?" I just groaned, and rolled away to my own pillow.
"You're good!" John called, sitting up on the side of the bed and rubbing his eyes. The door creaked open cautiously, as if scared that we were kissing behind closed doors or something.
"Sorry." She repeated.
"It's fine." John assured.
"It's six thirty, what can you possibly want?" I growled.
"Mrs. Hudson wants to practice for interviews and all that, we've only got six more hours to ourselves, then it's all hustle and bustle." Molly insisted, walking over to the window and pulling open the curtains. Fresh morning sunlight poured in, and I felt like hissing.
"It's six in the morning." I repeated, as if she hadn't heard correctly.
"Yes, good job Sherlock, you can read a clock." Molly snapped.
"We get up at seven usually." John defended.
"Yes well, then we'd only have five hours." She pointed out. "Oh, and the stylists will be here at ten."
"What can they possibly want?" I groaned.
"They've got your interview tuxes." She pointed out.
"Are they any good?" I asked.
"Haven't the faintest, but you two better get up." she insisted. I groaned, but didn't move.
"Up! Or I'll come back with a bucket of water!" Molly snapped, leaving the room in a hurry. I groaned, rolling off the bed in an effort to make myself stand.
"She's grumpy today." I decided.
"She's stressed. We're all stressed, we're scared and we don't know what to do about it." John insisted.
"Don't get all philosopher on me Johnny." I groaned.
"If you call me Johnny one more time you won't have to kill yourself." John warned. I just flashed him a smile, one that I hope would redeem me, and got to my feet, pulling on my robe and shuffling out the door.
"Ah, the morning sun rises." Mrs. Hudson said with a smile, sipping coffee on the couch.
"That doesn't even make sense." I grumbled.
"Yes well, it doesn't have to does it? Neither do you." She defended, blowing on the steam issuing from her mug and taking a cautious sip.
"Touché." John agreed as he walked past, sinking onto the couch and craning his neck, as if to catch the Avoxes in action.
"Oh shut up." I hissed, falling onto the couch next to him.
"Well, interviews, what are you all planning on?" Mrs. Hudson asked. Molly materialized next to her, never missing an opportunity to get in a conversation.
"Well, we'll be ourselves, but over dramatized, you said that." John pointed out. I was too tired to put any input in.
"Precisely. So just go on about how heartbroken you are to know that you'll have to split apart, how truly and desperately you love one another, how much you'll be willing to sacrifice your life to save each other, all that jazz." Mrs. Hudson shrugged.
"That's all true." I muttered.
"Just don't hold back, give them something they'll cry about." Molly insisted.
"Will do. I feel like crying every time Sherlock talks too." John insisted. I opened my mouth to defend myself, but I honestly couldn't think of anything snappy to say back, so I just stayed quiet.
"Interviews, you kind of know what to do I suppose." Mrs. Hudson shrugged.
"Then why are we up at six in the morning?" I growled.
"Because it's character building, stop fussing." Molly snapped.
"This is the last time we'll have together, so let's try not to be all grumpy okay?" Mrs. Hudson insisted.
"What about tonight?" I asked.
"We won't be nearly as calm then." Molly insisted.
"True." I agreed.
"So, betting on how many times we all cry is open, I start with at least six." John decided.
"Eight." I insisted.
"Thank god." Mrs. Hudson muttered. Obviously she was talking about breakfast, probably because it looked like Molly was going to claw someone's eyes out. That would really make us cry wouldn't it? We made our way over to the breakfast table, and I slowly realized that this might just be the last breakfast I ate with them normally.
"This is so unnecessarily early." I grumbled as I watched the clock change from six forty five to forty six.
"Shut up Sherlock." John hissed, stepping on my food under the table. I rolled my eyes, but didn't complain as Molly loaded up our plates and filled our glasses. We ate in silence, even Mrs. Hudson was yawning a couple of times, solid proof of my complaints.
"So, evaluations, you know what you'll be doing, make sure to speak clearly, say your name, district, that sort of thing. Then do your stuff, thank them, and then leave." Molly decided.
"They're always distracted by the time we come." I pointed out.
"Then make sure they pay attention." Mrs. Hudson insisted. John smiled out of the corners of his mouth, as if he were proud of Mrs. Hudson's daring. The rest of the morning we practiced interviews, although we had already done them before. Molly made us pretend to walk out to the chair, smiling, waving, all that stuff. I had a dead face the whole time because there was nothing more embarrassing than smiling for a pretend audience, but John looked so thrilled I actually thought he meant it. Then we sat in one of the armchairs (Mrs. Hudson had arranged them so they looked like the chairs on stage) and they asked all sorts of questions. I most answered with one or two word answers and it was astonishingly clear that Mrs. Hudson wanted to hit me upside the head with a frying pan. John went full detail, elaborating on even the simplest things, going on about me, the games, himself, his home life; he was literally an open book. I simply rolled my eyes, sitting on the couch and acting like the audience while he blabbed. I had to say, the only time I've ever been happy to see the stylists was today, as Mrs. Hudson was just asking how John and I officially admitted our feelings. I had just opened my mouth to tell her that was absolutely none of her business when the elevators opened and the stylists all poured out. Instead of their usually perky selves, both of them looked very somber, even though they were carrying multiple bags of clothes and papers, which was usually enough to get them excited. 

"Hello all." Sara mumbled. Both of their makeup had small streaks in it, which they obviously tried to cover with more makeup, since there were very bright patches of concealer and blush on their cheeks. They had been undoubtedly shedding tears over John and me. I didn't even know they were all that attached to us.
"Ooh, let's see it then." Molly said excitedly as Anthea unzipped the plastic protective sheet around the suits.
"Silver and gold." She announced, taking the outfits off of the hangers and displaying them for us.
"They're beautiful." Mrs. Hudson decided as she looked at the outfits. They were simply suits, the longer one was gold, which should be mine probably, with golden fabric that gleamed off any shift in light, like John's last year. The silver one looked like moonlight, beautiful and dark, John would look stunning in it.
"They're two metals you must be able to find while mining and they do go perfect together." Sara shrugged.
"Indeed they do, thank you Sara." Molly said with a smile.
"No problem, anything for you guys." Sara assured.
"So, evaluations today, what are you all going to do?" Anthea asked as Sara zipped the suits back into the sheet.
"Well that's for us to know, and you to find out." John insisted.
"Alright then, if you want to be stubborn. I'm not a spy if that's what you think. I only work for the Capital because it's the best fashion industry out there." Anthea pointed out.
"Now Anthea, if he doesn't want to tell you he doesn't have to." Sara insisted, giving Anthea a glare that might just challenge Molly's.
"Of course." Anthea sighed, smiling all the same. I took a protective step closer to John, just in case she came at him with a pair of sewing scissors or something.
"Well, you two have better get dressed, I'm sure lunch will be out soon." Molly insisted.
"But the interview isn't until...oh, right." I muttered, remembering we had to get in those terrible leather outfits once more. John and I nodded, happy to get out of here before the screaming started. There always seemed to be screaming following outfit picking. So John and I went to our rooms, changing into our outfits. I sighed, sitting on my bed and tapping my combat boot clad feet together, knowing this would be the last time I wore any of this stuff. It went to fast compared to John's games, the training, the parade, now the evaluations and soon the interviews, where was the time going? But, unfortunately, it was obviously leaving a lot faster now that my head was now on the chopping block as well. The only semi-good part about this whole thing was the lack of Irene, the most hellish girl I've ever known. Then again, in the games I'd have an opportunity to kill her. But then again, even though I wouldn't get the beautiful gift of killing Irene, I might just be able to slip a knife between Greg's ribs...
"Sherlock, it's time to go." Molly said, knocking on the door frame and looking quite worried.
"Do we really have to be there on time, we're going last anyway." I grumbled.
"Yes Sherlock, we don't want to make a bad impression." Molly insisted.
"They already have a bad impression of me, what's a little worse?" I sighed.
"Don't let them be biased Sherlock, it could never work for your advantage." Molly warned.
"Are you saying that they can't be biased for me?" I asked.
"Yes, I am. It's not the easiest thing to do." Molly insisted with a smile.
"Of course not, but somehow you managed it." I grumbled, getting off my bed and stalking out to the living room, where Mrs. Hudson was once again looking over the suits with a scowl.
"The collars..." she muttered to herself, obviously once again not pleased with the collars of the shirts. She really needed to settle for what the stylists wanted; they were the supreme fashion authority.