When Luck Runs Out

Death Took The Wrong Person

No pain could describe my own as I opened my eyes and saw John, slumped against the railing in a crude ball, the handle of the knife sticking out of his heart with blood pooling and pouring out. I heard a cannon blast, the only one I had heard since the beginning of the games, probably signifying that I was the victor. I couldn't even cry, I couldn't muster myself to feel anything as I fell to my knees, staring at the dead body of John, the only person I had ever loved, the only one that had ever loved me. The scared boy that had stumbled onto the train last year, the boy that I had slowly fallen in love with, that had won his games, flooded me with happiness as he came running off of the hovercraft, slumped and choking on his own blood.
"John..." I muttered, light pouring into the mall from somewhere. I fell into his body, cradling his limp form, holding him to me one last time, shielding him from the men in white that were trying to drag me away. "John..." my words were nothing more than distraught croaks. I felt tears start pouring from my eyes, but I couldn't feel them, the men were trying to pull me away, I grasped tight onto his corpse, but they pried my arms away, they didn't let me pull the knife out, they didn't let me close his eyes, they didn't let me kill myself as well...
"JOHN!"I cried, collapsing into the arms of the peacekeepers, his body falling once more to the ground, sitting in his own puddle of blood, his beautiful hazel eyes staring unseeing at the floor. I let the peacekeepers carry me away, to where I had no idea; I just dangled from their necks like a terrified child, sobbing uncontrollably as they led me onto the hovercraft, parked right outside of the broken window. I collapsed onto the cold metal floor while the nurses and doctors fussed over me, trying to clean out the small wounds I had collected over time, cleaning the blood off of my face. I did nothing to stop them, I just lay on the ground, staring up at the many faces wandering and hurrying around me, the metal ceiling. Every time I blinked I saw John, broken, slumped over and bleeding, my John. Before I knew it the doors had opened, and I could hear the paparazzi shrieking, I could hear people screaming, cameras flashing, they must think I was hurt or something, but I could move, I was just unwilling. If I stayed here long enough they might let me die, they might let me join the only person in the world I loved in Heaven. I saw the tear streaked, pale faces of Mrs. Hudson and Molly above me, hoisting me to my feet and half carrying half dragging me off of the plane, pulling my arms around their necks. I just let them take me, my head rolling around on my neck, my limbs unable to move, my legs unable to support what little I had left of a body. I could hear the two women talking, but couldn't understand them, I only heard their muttering, I could almost hear their tears falling as they carried me onto the train. I couldn't appreciate that I was back in society, that not everyone wanted to kill me, that I was out of the arena for good. It all seemed to be some modern art painting with no visible meaning behind foggy glass, everything was moving and everything was nothing more than lines and blurs of ugly colors. And then I was in my bed at the tribute center, as soon as my head hit the pillow everything went dark once more.                                               

          When I woke up I wished I hadn't. I wish that I had somehow died, that the whole thing had been a dream and that John would be snuggled up beside me, his warm body entangled in my own. But I rolled over and all I saw was Molly and Mrs. Hudson, sitting in chairs next to the bed, both flooded with relief that I was awake.
"Welcome back Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson muttered.
"John...he's..." I muttered.
"Don't think about that, just be still." Mrs. Hudson insisted. Molly didn't seem to be able to say anything; she was clutching a tissue to her mouth as if trying her very hardest not to burst into tears.
"I'm back?" I muttered.
"You're back." Mrs. Hudson agreed, pulling the blankets farther up on me as if trying to encourage me to lay back down.
"I told him not to, I didn't know he'd..." I started, sitting up in a panic and looking around the room, expecting to see someone, anyone really, crouched in the corner, ready to strike. I shuddered, scrambling to the corner of the bed and curling into a ball, burying my head into my legs and shaking horribly.
"Sherlock it's alright, it's fine, you're safe. No one's here to hurt you." Mrs.Hudson assured, patting my back comfortingly.
"He'd dead, isn't he?" I croaked.
"Yes." Mrs. Hudson muttered.
"He wasn't supposed to die." I insisted.
"I know, none of us saw it coming, it was a surprise, but I'm sure he had his reasons." Mrs. Hudson assured.
"I was supposed to die." I repeated.
"But you're alive, and that's what matters right now." She insisted.
"John's dead." I whispered to myself, and I heard Molly finally crack, bursting into the quietest tears she could manage.
"Why don't you just lie down a bit, you're very weak." Mrs. Hudson decided.
"I can't, I won't, JOHN'S DEAD!" I screamed in agony, taking one of the pillows from beside me and chucking it as hard as I could at the wall, a sudden flash of anger washing over me.
"Sherlock, calm down, there's nothing we can do now but make sure he died for a good purpose, he'd want you to rest, he wouldn't want you to be sad." Mrs.Hudson decided.
"I am sad Mrs. Hudson." I muttered, my voice so low that I was sure she hadn't heard me. "I am so sad."
"It's alright Sherlock, it'll all be alright." Mrs. Hudson insisted.
"You must be hungry?" Molly guessed, the first words she had said since I had woken up.
"No." I muttered.
"How about we get you cleaned up, you really are a mess." Mrs. Hudson decided.
"I can do it myself." I insisted.
"Are you sure?" she asked, worried like a mother caring for her child.
"I'm sure, I'll be fine." I insisted.
"Alright, well, we'll be right here if you need us." Molly agreed.
"I know." I muttered, clambering my way out of the bed and landing shakily on my feet. John was dead. I grabbed my favorite outfit from the drawers, which they had laid out nicely, in case I was returning, and stumbled into the bathroom. I locked the door and leaned against the wooden frame, shaking a little bit as I struggled to get the torn, bloody clothing off of me. My shirt was in torn pieces, my jacket splattered with tears and blood that wasn't mine, and my pants so ripped and messy that they looked more like an abstract painting. I realized that I still had the necklace, the one that had been passed between John and I, the one that had been there when I first declared my love, when our lips first met. I unclasped it and set it gently on the marble counter, not letting the chain get bundled or the pendant get wet. I turned on the water as hot as it would go, stepping into the burning flume, and standing there for a while, letting the water burn through my scalp, letting it turn my skin a horrible, burning red. It wasn't long before the room had filled with steam, and the water was so hot that I could hardly stand it, but it felt right to have physical pain. It reminded me that I was still alive. It took about four washes to get all of the blood out of my hair, every time the white foam falling onto the floor streaked with scarlet, whether it be all that remained of Jeanette, Moran, Greg, Jim, or John, that was unknown to me. All of them had died, all of the poor souls that had accompanied me on my journey into the arena, I was somehow the only survivor. I scrubbed the mud, dirt, and blood off of my skin until it was red and raw, so that no part of me remained unclean, and then stepped out, rapping myself in a fluffy white towel and standing in the steam for a little while, feeling the water drip from my soaking curls, huddled in the corner of the warm shower, the tiles cold on my steaming skin. This would be my life from now on, no more love, no more kisses, no more nightly snuggling with John. I would never trek over to his house in the cold snow; I was never going to attend any more awkward breakfasts with his parents. His house would be cleaned and emptied, ready for the next damaged tribute to stumble out of the arena. And I would be alone. I stepped out of the shower and got dressed, the clean clothes feeling foreign on my skin even though I had worn them so often before the games. But I felt like a different person, I felt like I was seeing myself and not actually living in my tortured body. I felt like I was a ghost, looking in on the empty shell of my body, trying to make out his own reflection in the foggy mirror. I clasped the necklace around my neck, staring at the little flame engraved in the metal, but felt that my own flame had died out. When I got out of the shower my room was empty, the bed made and the chairs gone, but I knew Mrs. Hudson and Molly were waiting for me, sitting stiffly on the couch and watching the door for when I came out. When I did come out, however, they were sitting together on one of the couches, Molly in tears once more, and Mrs. Hudson trying to comfort her. As soon as I entered Molly straightened up, wiping the tears hastily from her eyes and forcing a weak smile.
"Now you look like you." She muttered, taking a tissue from the large box on the coffee table.
"I don't feel... like me." I decided, struggling to find the right words that would describe my pain.
"That's only temporary Sherlock, I'm sure you'll be fine in a week." Mrs.Hudson insisted.
"I will never be fine Mrs. Hudson, never again will I be fine." I decided, sitting stiffly on the couch and staring out the window, where the world seemed to be turning just fine. In fact, people were already in the streets celebrating, the ones who had supported me were cheering, thrilled that I had somehow managed to escape the arena. Others were heartbroken, the ones who had loved our relationship, and the ones who had hated me were burning pictures of me in the dark. But no matter how angry or how distraught they felt, it was nothing to the horrible despair that was eating through my chest, making me want to attack everything in sight, that made me want to cry myself a river, that made me want to just end it all, just like John had.
"How about some food?" Mrs. Hudson suggested after a momentary silence. I looked behind me and saw the table was filled with all of the delicacies the capital could muster up, but I turned away, my stomach feeling like an endless pit, but I was also not hungry enough to eat anything.
"I'll get you some soup." Molly decided, rushing over to the table and returning very quickly with a large bowl of chicken noodle soup and a spoon.
"Here you are." She decided, handing me the warm bowl. But I barely knew what to do with it, the only thing I knew was that I liked the way it burnt my hands, so I held it for a while, breathing in the steam. The two women watched me without saying anything, and I didn't say anything either, but I could tell by their faces that they were beyond worried about me. They could tell that I was no more than a hollow shell, that nothing any more would faze me, that I would forever mourn my lost love. In the end my sudden hunger took over, and I started to ladle in the hot soup, spoon full after spoonful of hot broth burning over my tongue. I ate until the bowl was completely empty, and then I set it on the coffee table, staring at the empty bowl and wishing it would refill once more.
"Would you like some more?" Mrs. Hudson asked softly.
"Yes please." I agreed. I had three more bowls before I decided that was enough, and then I drank two big glasses of milk before final settling down on the cushion, wrapped in a blanket and laying on the couch.
"Do you want to sleep in your bed, or out here?" Mrs. Hudson asked.
"In my bed." I decided. If I slept on this couch it would feel too much like snuggling up on the couch with John so long ago at Molly's house. When we all thought all was lost, and we were right.
"That's fine. Anything before you go?" Mrs. Hudson asked.
"I'm alright." I lied, getting up from where I lay and sauntering into my bedroom. "Good night." I muttered before shutting the door and locking it, turning off the light and pulling the curtains shut, so that I had made a black paradise for myself.