When Luck Runs Out

Caught In A Web

    It was a little bit after ten o'clock, I think, when John came over to me again, he and Greg not looking very tired at all.
"I'm starving." I muttered, hoping that my growling stomach would be able to prove that.
"I'm sorry about that." John sighed. "Would you like some water?"
"No." I snapped. He was keeping his distance but I wish he wouldn't, I needed him right now, I needed his heat, I wanted his comforting touch, but above all I needed reassurance, to tell me that he loved me still, to tell me that I hadn't just lost my one and only love while trying to protect it.
"I'm sorry about this Sherlock, but honestly, there's nothing else I could do. You did a monstrous thing, and this is punishment. We'll untie you in the morning, until then though..."
"Do you still love me?" I asked, my voice shaky and childish, begging for his answer, begging for him to say yes. John was silent still.
"You're a different person." He muttered. I felt what little tears I had left start to slip down my chin, and tried to edge closer to John, but he took a cautious step back.
"I still love you." I insisted. "I did it for you, she betrayed me, she betrayed us, she kissed you even though she knew we were together."
"You betrayed me." John decided.
"Tell me you were going to push her away." I muttered.
"I would've, but I wouldn't have killed her. We needed her, she was our friend, and you butchered her because you got jealous." John insisted.
"She deserved it, she was cruel." I decided.
"Sherlock you killed her. Does that mean nothing to you, do you have any remorse?" John growled.
"I do John, I do!" I insisted, more tear splashing down my cheeks.
"You only care because I'm mad at you; you're still the most selfish person I've ever met!" John insisted, looking angry enough to slap me.
"John please don't leave me! Please, please don't leave me!" I pleaded, trying to break my rope bounds, trying to get to my John and hold him in my arms once more.
"It doesn't matter what I do right now, it's not like we're going to be together much longer." John insisted.
"Then just kill me now! Take revenge on Jeanette; kill me like I know you want to. You already drove your knife in; you just have to twist it. My heart is already broken, you just have to finish the job." I cried.
"Sherlock, I'm not going to kill you." John assured.
"I want you to." I whispered.
"I'm not going to." John insisted, and with that he walked away, back over to Greg and muttered something to him. Greg looked a bit annoyed, and they both looked over at me, as if I had done something wrong. John said something else, and then walked over to the entrance to the mall, disappearing down the dark stairs.
"Where did he go?" I asked fearfully.
"To go mourn Jeanette I suppose." Greg sighed, sitting back down in his chair.
"Is he armed?" I asked.
"I don't know." Greg sighed. I looked desperately around me, and spotted a rusty screw hanging out of the air conditioner, just what I needed to break these ropes. Greg was alone with me, John was far out of earshot, he wanted to kill me so badly, and he might. I needed some sort of escape, I needed to be prepared if he comes at me, wielding the same sword he killed that girl with, all of the people in his cornucopia, my blood would join the horrific modern art splashed on his murderous blade. I stretched my hand to its fullest extent and managed to grasp the screw with my two fingers, unscrewing it as silently as I could while Greg's back was turned.
"You know Sherlock, if you really want someone to kill you so badly, it doesn't have to be John." Greg insisted. The screw fell out and I was able to catch it as it sailed to the ground, concealing it up my sleeve as he walked closer.
"He's already killed me." I insisted.
"Don't be all dramatic, you always were dramatic. Like how you murdered Jeanette for kissing your bloody boyfriend, which was great." Greg snapped.
"She knew that we were together, and yet..." I started.
"This is not Jeanette's fault, or are you going to try to convince us she just decided to stop breathing?" Greg asked, getting up from his chair in rage.
"I'm not going to fight right now." I decided, looking at the door in anticipation, waiting for John to come up and defend me from Greg's murderous rage.
"Why, because he's not here to protect you?" Greg snapped.
"Because I don't want to cause any more conflict! I have nothing against you, and I don't want there to be anything. When I met you last year I thought you were annoying, but somehow amusing. You didn't care that I was grumpy, or that I didn't want to talk to you for the life of me, and now... now you want to skewer me on a stick. I messed up alright, that's what I do, I mess things up, I break my relationships, I turn my only friends against me, I'm nothing more than a murderous drug addict who's incapable of love." I admitted.
"Well, you're not wrong." Greg snapped, but instead of coming over to kill me, he sat back down in his chair, as if my pointless ramblings had somehow delated his anger. We waited a good hour for John return, and I watched the door, expecting it to fly open and John to come back, whether he kick me or kiss me I didn't really care at the moment, I just wanted him to come back. There were dangers lurking in the dark, there were tributes, wolves, who knows what else, this was the Hunger Games, and John hadn't returned.
"What's taking him so long?" Greg asked.
"We should get him." I insisted.
"You're not going anywhere." Greg snapped, getting up from his chair and walking over to the door.
"I have to protect him, that's my job!" I demanded.
"Well, you've done splendidly." Greg decided, opening the door and peering into the nothingness.
"John? John are you down there?" he called. His words echoed off of the stairwell, but other than that it was silent. "Come on up mate, we're getting worried!" still no response.
"Please let me go to him. If I die then I die, it's not like I have anything to live for. You'll be saving your own skin and you'll be getting me out of the way, it's a double win for you." I begged. Greg thought it over, tapped his foot and stared into the darkness, but then closed the door with a bang.
"Fine, we'll both go. John would've been back by now; he's not one to stall. But know this Holmes, one false move, if you try to kill me, if you try to escape, you'll find your head no longer attached to your body." Greg warned.
"Fair enough. I don't need it that much." I shrugged, holding out my arms for him to cut the ropes. Greg didn't seem too happy about it, but nevertheless he grabbed his sword from beside his chair and came over, slashing at the ropes binding me and helped me to my feet. It felt so weird to stand that I almost toppled over, if it hadn't been for the air conditioning unit helping me keep my balance.
"Little rusty there huh?" Greg asked, not doing anything to help me stand.
"I'll be fine." I insisted, rubbing my wrists where the ropes were cutting into my skin.
"Sure you will Sherlock, sure." Greg groaned, thrusting a sword into my hands and starting the walk over to the mall.
"Shouldn't we bring more weapons?" I asked.
"Why would we do that?" he asked.
"I don't know, just in case..." I muttered.
"I'm sure John's just lost in the dark, it'll be fine." Greg insisted, grabbing a lantern and opening the door.
"Alright then." He muttered, climbing down the stairs. I followed at a distance, in case he wanted to turn around and stab me through the neck, I couldn't die now, not when John was in danger. He may not think I'm worthy of him, but god help me I will protect my John through everything and anything, even if he didn't want my help.
"John?" Greg called, disappearing into the mall. I could see the orb of light that was the lamp, suspended by his arm, wandering over through the halls.
"I'll check this side, you check over there. If you find him just yell." I decided.
"I'm sure he'll be fine." Greg insisted. I sighed, walking through the darkness and wishing I had brought a lamp, anything that would help me see through this inky blackness.
"John?" I called, my hand gripping my sword with fear, the only thing I had to defend myself right now. There was no answer, and I was really starting to get worried. John would've responded wouldn't he? He would've come back, unless he was asleep, but surely our noise would wake him? Who could be down here, and who would attack him? Moran and Moriarty were my first guess, but it didn't mean it was them officially; there were so many other tributes around here that would want some blood. As long as it wasn't John's blood. I wandered near some sporting good's store, looking over the railing to see how Greg was doing. He would've been somewhere around where I was, directly across, but I didn't see the light. In fact, I didn't see the light anywhere, as if he had turned it off or something. Or someone else had broken it... My blood ran cold, and I just realized how disturbingly quiet it was, my footsteps were the only thing I heard, not Greg's not his calls for John, nothing... Someone jumped out of the shadows behind me, knocking my blade out of my hand and letting it fall over the railing. They covered my mouth with their hand and had their thick arm around me like a choke hold, preventing me from doing anything but struggle aimlessly under the unbreakable grip. I tried to bite their hand, to scratch at their arm, kick their legs, but I only seemed to be amusing them... My attacker was pushing me over to the edge of the railing, they were going to push me off somehow, I'd fall to my death... I fought with newfound devotion, I couldn't die, not while John was still out there, or was he at the bottom floor as well, his blood soaking through the cracked remains of his skull? I kicked and fought, but with a heave that was only possible for the strongest of men, I was thrown over the railing, sudden enough that I had no time to turn and grasp the edge of the floor. I was falling faster than I could ever imagine, but then I hit something hard and uncomfortable, a net, a large net, and it encircled me, the hold at the top closing and the flaking, cutting rope slicing into my bare skin as I was trapped at the bottom like an animal. I looked around desperately, trying to take in my surroundings, trying to see if Greg was anywhere to be found, but there was nothing, there was just darkness. And then someone light a single torch, spreading an eerie circle of light around a horrible scene. It was right out of my nightmares, Jim Moriarty, the thin, devilish man holding a large knife. And John, suspended by his limbs, his unconscious head rolling around on his neck, his shirt and jacket both missing, blood dripping from his lips...
"Ah, Sherlock, so glad you could make it!" Jim laughed, flicking the knife through the air with glee. His manic smile was glowing in the light, and the knife was gleaming with scarlet blood.
"No, NO JOHN!" I screamed, trying to scramble to my feet to no cause, the net simply bended at my weight and I was sent crashing down into the folds once more.
"Oh, this little man, is he your pet?" Jim asked with a laugh.
"Don't hurt him, don't you dare hurt him, I'll kill you." I warned.
"Funny, you don't seem very threatening." Jim decided. "Ah, and here he is, Seb, nice catch. Though, he's rather upset." Sebastian Moran stepped into the torchlight, and, just like his last games, he was shirtless, with human blood smeared over his chest and face like war paint. I hated to think that John's blood would join the mess.
"I'd expect he would be, this is his lover." Moran decided, going over to John and pushing his chin up, letting me have a good view of John's bruised face.
"Don't touch him!" I demanded.
"Or what?" he asked, looking quite unamused as he let John's head fall back down.
"Aw, Sebby I think he's a bit lonely. Poor Sherly, so alone, let's give him some company shall we?" Jim asked.
"I think we should." Moran agreed. We walked back from where he came from, and I craned my neck, trying to see where he was going or what he was up to, when suddenly the net opened. At first I thought he was freeing me, maybe he was actually on my side, maybe he realized that Jim was his main competition and he wanted me to help him kill him. But no, he was throwing someone else in with me, someone visibly not fighting back, as if they were unconscious, or already dead. The new body came falling down into the tent with me, and I didn't have enough time, or enough space, to avoid it. But I knew who it was the moment I saw the long hair flying in the wind, I didn't have to see the grotesque face to know it was Jeanette. I scrambled away from the body in horror, her horrible, twisted neck bright red, and her wounds starting to peel away, her skin was loose on her bones and it looked as if something had been pecking at her eyes, because they were bloody masses of tissue, sitting in her eye sockets. It took all of my effort not to throw up at the sight of my very own kill, but I couldn't scream, I couldn't give them the reaction they were looking for.
"Well, at least you'll have company while we kill your boyfriend here." Jim shrugged. Moran soon stood by his side, looking proud as he observed John's suspended body, as if picturing where he'd smear the fresh blood.
"DON'T YOU TOUCH HIM!" I screamed.
"Aw, so protective, too bad though, there doesn't seem to be anything you can do about. I can touch him Sherlock; I can do whatever I want to him." Jim insisted, stroking back John's hair, which was matted with blood from a wound, obviously where they had knocked him unconscious.
"But he's so limp, so lifeless; I hope he's not dead already." Jim sighed. He put two white fingers on John's neck, checking for a pulse, and sighed. "Alive, but barely. You're not doing too good a job Sherlock; you're going to let him die." Jim clucked.
"They're more fun when they scream." Moran decided, handing Jim a large bucket of water. Where they had found so much was beyond my care, but I didn't want them to wake John up. I didn't want to hear his scream. This was exactly like my nightmares, I was helpless, and they were going to kill him. The only thing I hadn't anticipated was that we'd end in such a horrible note, he might not even want to see me. And of course there was my bunk mate, the rotting, bloody body of Jeanette. Jim splashed John with water and he came to life, gasping for breath and trying to struggle out of the ropes, blinking rapidly to clear his vision.
"What the..." he muttered, looking around in fear. Realization flooded his face, and the terror he showed was enough to kill me all on its own. "Sherlock, SHERLOCK!" he screamed, seeing me, trapped in my net, defenseless.
"John, are you alright, are you hurt?" I screamed, clambering up my net in horror, trying to claw out of it, doing anything I could.
"He will be." Moran laughed, pulling a wicked looking hunting knife out of his belt.
"John I'm so sorry, please, I tried, I tried so hard!" I cried.
"I know, Sherlock I'm sorry too, I still lo..." John's words were cut off by Jim covering his mouth with his hand, looking quite amused.
"No use of apologies right now boys, we need to get this show on the road." He laughed. I clawed at the ropes trapping me, trying to climb to the top, but failing horribly, coming crashing back down on Jeanette's mangled body. The only thing that was different though, was a sharp pain in my leg, as if something in my pocket had impaled me... the screw! I still had it, maybe I could be able to cut my way out of this thing anyway.
"Well then, Johnny, I hate to do this, but it is so much fun. Pain, suffering, it's the purest form of entertainment, is it not my love?" Jim laughed. Moran just grinned, examining his knife proudly.
"Nothing as satisfying as someone else's screams." He agreed.
"Well then, let's listen to Mr. Watson's then." Jim decided, but all I could hear was my own screams as Jim started to carve his sword into John's arm.