When Luck Runs Out

Let's Not Break a Leg

    John and I both got dressed, John in the silver and myself in the gold. When I came out I felt like a glorified lemon, but John looked simply radiant.
"Wow John, you look..." I was at a loss for words really; the silver material really went good with his golden hair, his hazel eyes gleaming... "Amazing." I breathed.
"As do you." John agreed. "Like a million bucks."
"Was that a pun?" I asked.
"It could be." John agreed with a smile. The makeup and hair took the rest of the time, from four to maybe six, two hours of sitting in a chair, getting yelled at when I simply moved my cheek. When finally I had golden eyeliner, eyeshadow, lined lips, and concealer and all of that, we were shooed off to the interview stadium, where thousands of people would be jam packed in, straining to watch as we all made fools of ourselves.
"You look nervous." John decided, taking my hand once more as we stood in the train.
"I am, of course I am." I admitted.
"You'll be fine, you blew your old score out of the water, maybe this time you'll be able to answer all of his questions." John insisted with a laugh.
"Oh shut up." I snapped.
"I'm serious, you'll be fine, you've done this a thousand times." John assured.
"Not in front of this big of a crowd." I muttered.
"If you can string together a sentence in front of my parents, all will be well." John insisted.
"I'm not sure I've done that yet." I admitted with a laugh.
"True, true." John agreed.
"You'll be great too, the people of the Capital love you." I assured.
"I can't imagine why." John shrugged.
"Oh, definitely, no idea." I agreed, and John hit me in the shoulder.
"You're going to have to take on the role of protective boyfriend." He insisted.
"Aren't I always?" I asked.
"Fair point. Well, at least you think you're the protective one." John shrugged.
"What do you mean by that?" I asked.
"I mean that by the time the things you need to fight come, they've already gone through me." John insisted.
"Sure they have. And what would these things be?" I asked.
"I'm not sure yet." John admitted with a smile.
"If you weren't so pampered right now I'd throw you off of the train." I decided.
"Oh well, what's a little bit of brake fluid on this shiny silk huh?" John shrugged.
"You look stunning." I assured.
"Oh I know." He agreed, twirling and flipping fake hair over his shoulder.
"I don't know what's going on over there, but I can assure you look like a total idiot!" Mrs. Hudson called over, and John just waved innocently.
"don't listen to her. Darling, you're beautiful." I said loud enough that Mrs. Hudson could hear where she stood.
"How did I ever think you were straight?" Mrs. Hudson called back.
"I knew all along!" Molly called from where her and the stylists were talking.
"Well good for you." I snapped, even though I couldn't imagine how she could possibly have guessed. I knew I wasn't into girls, but I didn't know I was into guys, I just thought I was happy being myself. Which I am, but John just enhances everything. We pulled up into the stadium, into the dark backstage, where I could hear the crowd talking from here. There was soft music playing, and the lighting kept changing as the stage lights moved. All the tributes were back here, the girls in pretty cocktail dresses and the men in suits, none as fabulous as ours though. John and I stood to the side of the pack, secluded partially by the shadows, our hands interlocked and our heads down with nerves.
"Don't worry about it Sherlock, I know you'll be brilliant." John assured.
"So far I have been anything but." I insisted.
"You got a seven. That's three more than your past one, and you only threw one spear." John pointed out.
"Well, I guess I'm lucky that I've got you then, with your ten, to protect me." I insisted.
"See, I told you I was the protective one." John laughed.
"How does one even get a twelve?" I asked, looking around to see if Moran was present.
"Don't worry about it Sherlock, he'll be dead before he gets to us, I promise." John assured.
"How do you know they won't go straight for us?" I asked.
"For some reason they seem to like you, Jim does at least. Moran doesn't seem to me like a man with a mind of his own, so I'm sure they'll leave us alone, at least until the other people have died first." John decided.
"Us gays have to stick together I suppose." I shrugged.
"I suppose we do. But if I go in a five foot range of those psychopaths I'm pretty sure I'll have a mental breakdown just like you did." John decided.
"Fair enough." I agreed. Our little conversation was interrupted when the loud, obnoxious music came on, and Caesar's annoying laugh was magnified tenfold around the enormous stadium.
"Welcome!" I heard him say. "Welcome citizens, welcome tributes, mentor, escorts, parents, royalty, welcome, to the 75th annual Hunger Games!" Caesar yelled, and there was an uproar of the crowd, all just bursting with excitement to see the tributes on the stage once more. "Now, as you all know, tomorrow is the Quarter Quell, and instead of sending in fresh little guppies into the arena, we're sending the experienced fisherman!" once again the crowd screamed, and I just looked at John with a quizzed expression.
"Fisherman?" I asked with annoyance.
"Yes, yes, I know, what am I doing up here talking, you don't want to see me, this isn't the four hour long Caesar show, is it?" Caesar laughed so loud it almost drowned out the crowd, who were all screeching bloody murder.
"Then, without farther ado, please help me in welcoming our first tribute, from District one..." And it started. The tributes, all in a line now, were slowly marched off into the stadium, asked a couple of questions, got some applause, and left. The crowd favorites got some more questions than the others, like Moran and Moriarty, who both talked about how they were simply dying to get into that arena and doing some killing themselves. It sent shivers down my spine to just thinking about going up against them. Greg and Jeanette talked, if possible, more than Caesar, about nothing in particular. Jeanette went off on a tangent about how great the Capital food was, and that it was the only reason she wasn't complaining about going into the games. Caesar, in the end, had to cut her off so there was enough time to get everyone. Finally the last district elven girl was sitting in the chair, talking to Caesar idly, and surveying the crowd nervously. I twisted my hand in John's nervous beyond belief about getting back in that chair.
"It'll be alright Sherlock." John assured, but he had said that before evaluations, and look how that turned out. Finally, when she left, the chair was open for me.
"And now, from District Twelve, Sherlock Holmes!" Caesar yelled. I let John's hand drop and walked over to where Caesar was standing, taking a deep breath and forcing a smile on my face. The crowd was roaring once more, a lot more people than either of our individual interviews. But of course, we were the star-crossed lovers of District twelve, we weren't unimportant; on the contrary, they had saved the best for last. The stage lights blinded me as I shook Caesar's soft hand, and took a seat in the nice little chair provided.
"Sherlock Holmes, it seems like only yesterday I said that and you didn't respond." Caesar laughed.
"Well, it kind of was." I agreed. Caesar laughed, even though it was far from a joke.
"Now, I'll just cut to the chase, Sherlock, you poor poor man, this must be the worst experience of your life." Caesar guessed. I almost protested, but then remembered Mrs. Hudson's instructions, play the part.
"Not yet I suppose." I muttered, nervously twisting a thread I had managed to pull loose on my jacket. The crowd awed, obviously I was doing something right.
"I'm not going to try to sugar coat it, because I'm sure you and my audience all know what is at stake in these games. You and Mr. Watson are going into the games together, but there can only be one victor. Knowing that, why did you volunteer?" Caesar asked, his golden hair reflecting the light. I didn't even have the slightest urge to smile though; I didn't even have time to consider how stupid he looked here, or even how dumb I must look.
"I volunteered because I was doing what I had to, protect John. If he hadn't volunteered for Molly then I did my duty, and if we go in together I can be right there to make sure no harm comes to him. He's getting out alive, and I know that my life is worth so much less than his." I insisted. Caesar wiped his eye, whether an actual tear or just an act, I couldn't tell, but I could certainly hear people crying in the audience. Oh suck it up people, it's not that sad.
"Now, we all just learned that you had scored a seven on your evaluations, how do you feel about that considering you had gotten a four last time?" Caesar asked.
"Well I certainly didn't expect it, but compared to Mr. Moran's twelve, I don't think a seven is good enough. In fact, I'm sure it's the worst score of the games." I decided. Caesar didn't say anything, so that meant he agreed with me. A seven in the normal games might be enough for a sponsor or two, but in the Quarter Quell a seven was basically a suicide note.
"Now we all know your score, but what most don't know is how you got that. Rumors fly of course, in this area, some might say you had chopped up some dummies and some might say that you followed Mrs. Adler's technique, but I had heard that you were dragged out by peacekeepers, am I correct?" Caesar asked. The crowd was silent, obviously they weren't told about my little mishap.
"That's correct." I muttered, looking over to the wing where I saw John standing there nervously, who gave me a nod of encouragement. "Seems to be a recurring theme actually." Caesar and the crowd both laughed, but they were obviously forced, without too much noise. I could tell all of them were dying to know what really happened, they needed to know what was wrong.
"Yes, you attacked a crowd after the parade, but what happened at the evaluations?" Caesar asked, leaning in close with a look of ravenous curiosity.
"I uh, well, I had a sort of hallucination." I muttered. Caesar gasped, but waved his hand furiously for me to continue. "The dummy, that I attacked, I didn't see the dummy, instead I saw John, bloody, dying, I knew that I had killed him, and it broke me I suppose." There were more annoying gasps, I know, I know, it was tragic. But now the lights were hurting my eyes and the heat they produced combined with this god awful outfit, I was working up a sweat just sitting here and listening to people cry about me.
"Sherlock, are you mentally unstable?" Caesar asked.
"We all are, us victors. We've all got the dreams, the regret; I guess I just can't handle it as much as the others." I decided.
"I know you're strong Sherlock, you've proved it time and time again, and I hope you know how dearly relieved the public and I were when we found out that you were happy, at least for a bit." Caesar insisted.
"I'll always be happy as long as I know John is okay. He's all that matters." I insisted.
"I'm sure he'd say the same for you." Caesar insisted.
"That's what worries me." I agreed with a smile.
"Well, Mr. Holmes, I wish you the best of luck with the games, everyone," Caesar stood up and lifted my hand to the crowd, like he did everyone, "Sherlock Holmes!" The crowd cheered, I even saw a couple of them stand and clap vigorously, wiping tears from their makeup. Did people really care this much about me? I smiled timidly and quickly scuttled off the stage.
"And now, the counterpart from District Twelve, John Watson!" Caesar cried, and the crowd cheered once more. I gave John a quick pat on the shoulder as we passed each other, but he had his jaw set in determination, forcing a smile onto his face as he walked on stage. Molly and Mrs. Hudson greeted me with tears, dabbing their eyes with lace handkerchiefs.
"That was beautiful Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson insisted.
"Shush." I demanded as the cheering for John started to die down, and he sat in the chair. Caesar beamed at him, and I just held my breath.
"Mr. Watson, I'm sure you just heard my conversation with Mr. Holmes, what do you have to say about it?" Caesar asked.
"I'd say he's a bit of a crybaby." John laughed. The crowd burst with nervous laughter, point one for comic relief.
"He said that last time too." Molly remembered, and I shushed her once more.
"Well at least you have a more positive outlook." Caesar insisted, laughing once more, so loud that I could feel the floor vibrating as the speakers tried to keep up.
"I know what's at stake, I know what we'll lose, but also what we'll gain. We won't be forgotten when we go down in these games, all of us, victors of the Hunger Games, we've been crowned, we've been adored, and we've been forgotten. These games make the citizens remember you, remember cheering for you, remember crying for you, remember watching as Snow set the crown on your heads, and now they get to experience it all over, whether you're crowned once more or whether they watch your burial. Either way we won't be forgotten again." John insisted.
"Powerful speech John, simply radiant." Caesar decided, clapping his hands together and looking incredibly entranced by John's ability to steal the spotlight.
"Thanks, I practiced it in the mirror." John laughed. The seriousness died off as the crowd laughed once more.
"Now, I know Mr. Holmes has a plan for the games, but how about you? Did you volunteer to protect him as well?" Caesar asked.
"Sherlock will pretend that he's the knight in shining armor, but in reality he's the princess stuck in a tower, and I mean that literally. Did you know he literally has three hair brushes?" John asked, and the crowd laughed once more. "There's a reason he's dating me." This time I literally covered my ears as Caesar laughed, worried about my ear drums.
"Are you saying you're the knight?" Caesar asked.
"I'm not saying I am, I'm not denying it thought. The reason I volunteered is because I knew that no matter what happens in these games nothing will ever be the same, ever. If Molly had gone with him and came out victorious, Sherlock would be dead, but if he came out he'd be dead inside anyway. Sherlock needs someone there with him, someone that understands what he's going through even if they don't, someone to support him, to help him fight off the dangers, both physically and mentally, and someone to make sure he gets out of the arena alive. He's fragile, and needs all the support he can get. So sponsors, anyone really, if you support our relationship, if you feel the need to sponsor either one of us, don't waste your money on me. Sherlock needs to live, he needs to eat, to drink, I can survive well, and with the possibility that we get separated, he's..." I didn't wait around for John to finish his sentence, and I didn't remotely care if the people actually wanted to hear what he had to say. I ran onto the stage, not caring if it wasn't planned, or uncalled for, this wasn't just some silly TV interview, he was literally telling the citizens not to keep him alive, and I wouldn't stand there and watch.
"DON'T LISTEN TO HIM!" I cried as I ran onto the stage. John stopped talking, getting to his feet as I skidded across the floor at him. Even if he had continued, no one would've heard him considering the gasps of amazement coming from the crowd.
"Back for more I see Sherlock!" Caesar laughed.
"Don't listen to him." I repeated.
"Sherlock, what are you doing here, this I my interview, I can say what I want." John hissed, talking extremely close to me so that he didn't have to raise his voice. Obviously a bit of domestic conflict wouldn't help our charity.
"You're not going to kill yourself because you think I'm fragile." I insisted.
"But you are." John snapped.
"Yes well, so are you." I demanded.
"Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen, excuse me..." Caesar insisted, worming his way between up with a smile that could probably replace all the lights in the stadium. John simply plastered a smile onto his face and stood up straight, looking into the audience apologetically.
"Sorry about that." I muttered.
"It's quite alright Sherlock; I know that crazy things love can make us do." Caesar assured.
"But please, ladies and gentlemen, don't listen to him. John is the only tribute from District Twelve that deserves your money and attention. He's saved me so many times, and it's time that I returned the favor." I insisted.
"Thank you Sherlock, but we'll talk about this later." John whispered.
"Mr. Holmes, if you will, please exit the stage." Caesar insisted.
"Just, donate to John! The Watson fund, very charitable, very deserving, tell your friends..." I muttered.
"Sherlock come here!" Mrs. Hudson yelled from the wings, looking livid.
"Ya, I should..." I looked around at both John and Caesar's disapproving glares, and I realized that I had just made more of a fool of myself than I had last year. "...I should go." I decided. And with that I bolted off of the stage, faster than I would've imagined possible.