When Luck Runs Out

So You Think You Can Kill?

    "Time to go." John muttered, looking at the elevator scornfully. We all loaded into the elevator, except the stylists of course, they stayed in the flat for some reason. Maybe so they didn't have to make the tedious journey all the way back to their headquarters back to our flat. I wasn't complaining though, I wouldn't have to sit around and deal with them. I was horribly hungry though, I didn't know why we didn't eat before we left, but my stomach gave a very unattractive growl as we boarded the train bound to the training center. I couldn't help but feel a little bit apprehensive, even though I knew that no one in their right minds would sponsor us, I wanted to at least a better score than last year. Thankfully that goal was extremely attainable considering I had done math problems and got a four. I wondered what the lowest score ever was.
"Ready?" John asked his foot tapping nervously as the train sped along the underground rails.
"As I'll ever be I suppose." I sighed, leaning against the side of the train and watching the painted numbers go by.
"You'll be fine, I'm sure you can't do worse than last year." John assured.
"Wow John, thanks!" I laughed. John just rolled his eyes.
"You know what I mean." He insisted, taking my hand as if he thought I needed comforting. Well, of course I did, but I wasn't making it very obvious. In fact I felt a lot worse than I was letting on, even to myself to be honest. The thought of getting back into the games, being alone in front of the very gamemakers that had put me through Hell itself, it was enough to make me want to throw up.
"So, you're throwing spears right?" John asked, running his thumb over my palm and staring at our hands, as if they were the most fascinating thing he's ever seen.
"I suppose so." I sighed. "I'll somehow manage to spear myself."
"You'll be fine Sherlock, I guarantee it." John assured, his adorable little smile shining up at me and making my heart swell.
"Well, if you guarantee it..." I laughed. "You'll kill it, literally, I'm sure you'll chop that dummy's head off with one good throw."
"Sherlock you do know that it's impossible to decapitate a dummy with nothing but a knife, right?" John asked.
"Well, I suppose it depends on how small the dummy is, or how big the knife is." I insisted.
"True, very true." John agreed. The train stopped outside the training center, and we said our goodbyes in the train. Molly and Mrs. Hudson gave both of us hugs, and I could almost feel tears coming on as they said farewell, even though we'd seem them in a little bit over two hours or so. When we walked in I was very happy to see there was a snack stand, complete with hamburger sliders, chicken fingers, chips, all sorts of fancy snacks and cookies, and drinks. I loaded a plate, John right behind me, and we sat in our designated seats and waited for our names to be called. Finally the first name was called, and a girl from District One was called. She made her way confidently through the doors, holding her head high as if she knew she was going to nail it. She returned about five minutes later, beaming at her counterpart as the next District One boy went out. One by one they were called, and, since my last name came before John's, he would be last. We sat patiently, sometimes munching on snacks or just sitting quietly. Thankfully Greg and Jeanette were much farther up than we were, so they couldn't talk to us. No one really talked though, the two of them muttered and whispered to each other, but that was all. John and I didn't exchange one little word though. As time went on the people in the room decreased and decreased, until finally it was just John and I, being as the last District Eleven tribute left the room. I stood up, taking long, deep breaths, trying to calm my nerves. It felt like I was going to scream, cry, or start attacking everything in sight. Maybe that's what I should do; just claw away at the dummy's faces while screaming. Might score me a six at best. Finally the eleven boy came out, looking a little bit shaken but overall confident, and the loudspeaker announced my name.
"Good luck." John murmured to me as I walked through the white swinging doors. It was pretty much the same as the training room, minus the multiple nets and climbing walls and survival stands. These evaluations were mostly focused on how well you could kill someone, and that's probably why I'm going to fail.
"Sherlock Holmes, District Twelve." I muttered to the gamemakers. They were all sitting on some sort of balcony, feasting and laughing together as they idly turned their attention towards me. Some didn't even look, and another was passed out drunk.
"Go ahead Mr. Holmes." commanded one of the older men. I nodded, looking around a bit nervously for the spears. They were a little bit away, so I walked over and picked up three of the best looking ones. In reality they all looked like the best ones, all weighted perfectly and sharpened to perfection, but I picked the ones that sparkled the most under the lights, the prettiest ones. Maybe that was a side effect to having a boyfriend. As I went over to the throwing area I could hear the gamemakers talking to one another on the balcony, they couldn't care less about me, I understood that. I took a long, deep breath, holding one of the spears in my hands and posing to throw it at the dummy. Another deep breath, I pulled back my arm, aiming viciously at the dummy's chest, and with an exhale I threw. The spear flew through the air and, to my amazement... hit John right in the chest. There was a small croak of surprise from him, and I could see drops of blood splattering from his chest, pooling onto the floor... I stumbled back, tripping over one of my spears and with a scream falling into the display of bow and arrows, sending the stainless steel crashing to the floor. John wobbled a little bit, his lips forming words, but from the ringing in my ears I couldn't hear them.
"JOHN!" I screamed, and with that John fell, the spear in his chest impaling him all the way through with the impact.
"JOHN!" I screamed again, feeling tears flow down my cheeks once more as I stared at the body, limbs still twitching, bloody spear sticking up into the air like some sort of sick display. I felt, once again, the restraining force of peacekeepers pulling me away, but, of course, I fought them, I wouldn't let John sit here, all alone, all alone for the peacekeepers to carelessly mop him up.... "NOOO!"I screamed, clawing at their dark facemasks, kicking at their armored shins. They dragged me back through the doors, and I only stopped fighting when I saw John, the real John, rush over and push them away.
"Sherlock what happened?" he asked, giving me a tight hug.
"John, you're alive, you're... oh my god." I groaned, hugging him back nevertheless.
"What did you do, you idiot?" John laughed.
"I through the spear, and I thought... I saw you, the spear hit you." I muttered.
"Well, I'm fine, there's nothing wrong." John assured.
"John Watson." The loud speaker said.
"I've got to go, but make sure you stay here alright, look after him." he instructed the peacekeepers, who nodded stiffly but didn't say anything. I wasn't sure if they actually ever said anything, what if they were just robots? John gave me one last hug of good luck and then disappeared out the door, and from here I could see the dummy which I had hit, still standing on the podium with a spear impaled through its chest. Honestly, it wasn't a bad shot. There were levels of stupidity, it comes from bad math tests, stupid choices of friends, possibly an undercooked dinner, but I didn't even know what panic attacks in front of the gamemakers came in at. Maybe they were impressed with the way I viciously fought the peacekeepers, but all in all my score was probably a five or less. I stood in the middle of the three peacekeepers, trapped at all sides, and started to feel extremely uncomfortable as I felt their dead eyes watching me through their helmets. I couldn't hear anything from where I stood, but I knew that John was probably chucking knives at the dummies and not seeing the love of his life stoop over and die. That seems to be a recurring theme in my life though. When the doors opened back up John looked mentally unharmed, and he shooed away the peacekeepers, taking my hand and leading me to the train station. Thankfully the train was there, waiting for us, and Molly and Mrs. Hudson were sitting in the seats, probably assuming the two of us did amazing. Well, surprise!
"How'd it go?!" Molly asked excitedly, both of them jumping off of their chairs to greet us.
"Well.... Funny story actually...." I muttered, looking sideways at John. Their smiles were gone so fast it was like they had fallen off of their face.
"What." Mrs. Hudson groaned, obviously knowing that this had to be bad.
"Well, I through the first spear, right in the chest, but when I looked I didn't see the dummy, I saw John, with a spear in his chest." I muttered.
"Oh god." Molly groaned, not scared or sympathetic; more like, of course, Sherlock and another one of his mental breakdowns.
"And I kind of freaked out, and the peacekeepers once again dragged me out." I finished.
"Well, you and those peacekeepers are really getting to know one another now." Mrs. Hudson muttered.
"But it's fine, I saw his shot, the spear hit it square in the chest." John assured.
"And the gamemakers saw me freaking out, fighting off the peacekeepers, for three against one I put up a pretty good fight." I said, giving them two thumbs up and a large smile. John cracked a nervous smile, but the women looked extremely unentertained.
"Let's just go get the scores." Molly decided, the doors of the train closing and we started the journey back to the tribute center.
"How'd you do dear?" Mrs. Hudson asked John, who was sitting in a chair and not saying much.
"Oh, fine. I got the dummy twice in the head, and three times in the chest." John said proudly. Mrs. Hudson beamed at him, obviously thinking that he was going to be the winner. But I knew that coming in, and it would be preferable if he got a better score than me. When the train stopped we all loaded back into the elevator, the lobby empty since everyone was back already. The nerves that had been building up, at least for the evaluations, were flushed away, but the ones for the interviews and the game itself just moved in. If possible, I felt even worse.
"Alright, there's some sandwiches on the table, just like last year." Mrs. Hudson decided, turning on the TV immediately and flipping to the Capital station. I didn't really know they used that channel for other than the games, Snow's announcements, daily life of the Capital, the world's worst dictator game show? Less than one hundred people could afford TV's in District Twelve, and here we are in the Capital, where they had their own station. Life was just splendid. We all loaded up our plates with sandwiches and chips, sitting on the couches in front of the TV and awaiting the scores. The scoring was announced at three thirty, and it was two twenty five, so we had five minutes of anxious anticipation.
"I'm going to get a one." I laughed.
"What's the lowest score you've ever seen?" John asked.
"They don't usually get below three; I think the gamemakers just take pity." Mrs. Hudson shrugged.
"That makes my four last year seem even worse." I decided.
"That's because it was bad." Mrs. Hudson agreed.
"Offensive." I muttered. John just laughed, and Molly looked too nervous to talk. She was wringing her napkin in her hands, ignoring the full plate of food on the table next to her, staring anxiously at the TV and waiting for the scoring to start. Any minute now...
"I think you'll get a nine." I decided. "Or ten."
"I think you'll get a six or seven, because that was a pretty solid shot." John decided.
"You should know, it killed you." I pointed out with a laugh.
"Oh god Sherlock." John grumbled, but he was smiling nevertheless.
"It's on!" Molly screeched, hanging off the couch with terror. Caesar Flickerman, with his stupid golden hair, was introducing the games and explaining the Quarter Quell, I didn't really pay attention. Finally they started with the boy from one, who got a nine, the girl got an eight, I didn't really pay much attention. As far as I knew, they were all great already; a puny number wouldn't change anything. Moriarty's face flashed on the screen, with his blood curdling smile and his dead black eyes. He got an eleven, and Sebastian, who came right after, revived a twelve. That really didn't make me feel good. The scores went on; Greg got a ten, Jeanette a seven, and so on. Finally my picture was on the screen, looked very timid and small. A seven flashed on the screen.
"WHAT!?" I screamed with amazement.
"Shush, shush!" Mrs. Hudson insisted. John's picture appeared, looking very calm and attractive, and there was a pause that seemed like ages. A big white number ten flashed on the screen. Molly jumped up in amazement, trapping both John and I in a bone breaking hug.
"WE DID IT!" she screamed with excitement, jumping up and down. I couldn't seem to wipe a smile off of my face as I hugged all of them, the mood in the room skyrocketing. This would be the last happy moment I probably ever had.
"A seven, how on earth did you get a seven?" Mrs. Hudson asked, but she was smiling all the same, pulling me in for another hug.
"I guess they liked me." I shrugged.
"And a ten, that's the highest score we've seen in ages!" Molly exclaimed. John blushed humbly, muttering about how it wasn't all that great compared to Sebastian's twelve.
"It's fabulous John." I assured. He just smiled, and the two of us hugged once more, maybe for a bit longer than we would've anyone else. The elevator opened and the stylists appeared, with cups of coffee and shopping bags, obviously siting around the flat all day wasn't entertaining enough for them.
"Congratulations! We saw it on the big screen!" Sara yelled, dropping her shopping and giving us all big hugs of triumph.
"Brilliant, just brilliant." Anthea agreed. Molly beamed at them as Sara trapped her in a hug as well, obviously even their little fashion rivalry didn't stand between the celebration in the room.
"Well, enough of this, we've got some suits to try on." Anthea decided, shooing us away and thrusting our outfits into our hands. ihey<|@