When Luck Runs Out

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    "Ah, breakfast, good timing." Mrs. Hudson decided, sounding very relieved as she led the way to the breakfast table. The Avoxes scurried out quickly as we sat down, as if they didn't want us to see them or something. Well, sorry to disappoint, but it's not like they're master ninjas or anything. Although I did have no faint idea where they lived on this train, or where they went all day. We sat down at the breakfast table and stared at the display, not the faintest bit hungry to be honest.
"We'll be at the station in a good two hours or so." Mrs. Hudson decided.
"It'll be nice to get home, it's been too long." Molly decided.
"Oh, and I have a special surprise for you all." Mrs. Hudson pointed out. I looked up in hope, had she somehow managed to bring John back to life? Did she have Snow tied up to the train tracks in front of us? "I'm staying in District Twelve for a couple of weeks!" she announced, and Molly's face broke into the biggest smile I'd seen on her in days.
"You are?" she asked in excitement.
"I asked, and they said that if your tributes still require 'support' from their escort, that I am allowed to stay in the District until you both are settled in and stable. And of course I couldn't miss the..." she drifted off, taking a sideways glace at me and looking down at her empty plate in shame.
"The funeral." I finished.
"Ya, that." Mrs. Hudson muttered. The excitement that had previously been present faded with the reminder of John's death.
"Well it looks delicious." Molly decided, but even as she said it she only picked up a few sausage links and a piece of toast. I ate a small plate of hash browns and a piece of bacon, pretty much choking the food down. My motivation to eat was staring to get more and scarcer as I lost my will to live. Even though I knew I had to keep my world turning somehow I didn't want to encourage myself to take proper care of myself. Mrs. Hudson had her usual feast, but even she didn't look as happy to eat it. I kept glancing at the seat next to me, wanting more than anything to see John sitting in it, poking at a pile of scrambled eggs with his adorable little bed head. Breakfast was quite quiet after that, and after breakfast the mood didn't lighten. We sat on the couch, our bags already packed. Molly and Mrs. Hudson indulged in a game of checkers, one of those games that everyone can play but only one can master. Unfortunately though, both Molly and Mrs. Hudson were pretty skilled, and soon it was road blocks of pieces trying to get kinged and then an arsenal of red and black kings skirting around each other. I watched with boredom, slumped in my chair with annoyance and debating whether or not I should play the next round. But, to my luck, Mrs. Hudson won ten minutes from District Twelve, and we had to pack up the game and get our bags from our rooms.
"Well then, this is the last stretch. Home stretch." Mrs. Hudson decided, sitting on the couch and watching the familiar woods start to zoom past us through the windows.
"I suppose so." I agreed.
"I hope we never have to get on this train again." Molly insisted.
"There's no chance of that dear. You're here until you can't walk, I'm pretty sure I'll learn that the hard way to be honest." Mrs. Hudson sighed.
"You make it sound like you're old." Molly laughed.
"No, my cracking bones make me sound like I'm old." Mrs. Hudson debated. I had to crack a smile at her own daring, most ladies, such as my mother for instance, would never admit she was a day older than forty. Soon the gates were in sight, and before we knew it I could hear the train stop, the darkness of the district Twelve terminal surrounding us like an envelope.
"Well then, we should go." Molly decided. I grabbed both my bag and John's, shouldered them both, and lead the way off of the train and into the cement hallway. Mrs. Hudson and Molly followed at a distance, and we walked all in a line to the doors, the doors with sunlight pouring in from underneath them. I knew what was coming next, of course I did. It was the residents of District Twelve, come to praise me, come to mourn John, come to celebrate another Twelve victory. But I didn't want victory, I didn't want praise, I didn't want any of it.
"Ready?" Molly asked.
"Ready." I agreed with a deep breath, and together the two of us pulled open the doors, ready to meet the celebratory members of District Twelve. I expected a screech of delight, an uproar of citizens screaming and clapping and blowing horns. Instead they were all collected in the square, their faces somber, all holding what looked to be roses. A silent memorial, as they pretended to understand the pain. There was only one woman screaming, but she wasn't celebrating, far from it. It was Mrs. Watson.
"YOU PROMISED TO KEEP HIM SAFE!" she shrieked, "YOU PROMISED THAT HE WOULD'NT DIE, YOU PROMISED, YOU LIAR!" she screamed. Tears were flooding down her face and it took all of her husband's strength to keep her from jumping up and attacking me. Molly took my shoulder and tried to steer me away, but I was motionless on the spot as I saw all of the citizens, one by one, come up to the stage and drop their rose at our feet. It wasn't like a congratulations, like people do at performances or anything like that, no. They set it down slowly until there was a pile of red flowers swarming our feet. It was more like a condolence than anything, they weren't telling us how sorry they felt, they were showing us. Once they dropped their flowers on the stage they left, one by one, like this was some big plan they had created and rehearsed before we opened the doors.
"YOU LET HIM DIE SHERLOCK, YOU'RE A MURDERER!" Mrs. Watson yelled, her voice livid, her words cutting me worse than steel. I grabbed Molly's hand in a moment of weakness, I needed someone with me, someone I knew wouldn't leave. If he had been here, it would've been him.
"Come on Sherlock, we don't need to hear this." Molly insisted as the last of the citizens dropped their sorrowful flowers onto the stage. I nodded in agreement, picking up one of the roses as I passed and walked off of the stage. All of the snow had melted since we were last here, and the dead grass was just starting to have blades of green sticking up out of the ground. The smell of coal was harsh and there was that thin layer of ash and coal dust that covered everything, but it was home, the only place I could truly call home. The Victor's Village stood proud and tall through the district, with white buildings like mausoleums looming above the starving and beaten members of this world.
"Home sweet home." Molly muttered, crunching through the gravel to the village. I twirled the flower in my fingers, letting go of Molly's hand now that Mrs. Watson was gone, but the guilt that was eating me up slowly had just grown more rapid when I remembered what I had promised her. I had said I wouldn't let her son die, I had said I would protect him at all costs. But I had failed, I had failed miserably and I had let John die when I could've saved him so easily. All I had to do was not be such a coward.
"Oh SHERLOCK!" my mother shrieked, coming running out of her house in glee and prancing to where I stood. "Oh my previous boy, I was so worried, so worried." She insisted, running through the gravel without any shoes, wearing her nightgown and an apron. My mom trapped me in an unavoidable, bone breaking hug; I could feel her shaking with tears of joy. "I was so sure, so scared that you were going to die."
"Thanks for having confidence in me." I muttered with a laugh.
"It's not that. It's your stubbornness that worried me. I thought you were going to kill yourself." She pointed out.
"I wanted to." I assured.
"No, no, don't say that Sherlock, please don't say that." she insisted, holding me even closer so that it felt like it was nearly impossible to breathe.
"Please let me breathe or I'll die for real." I pleaded.
"Oh, yes, sorry dear." Mrs. Holmes laughed, letting me go and laughing as she smoothed out my jacket and patted down my hair. "And Molly, oh dear, how are you?" she asked, forcing Molly into another unavoidable hug.
"I'm fine, just fine Mrs. Holmes, how are you?" she asked.
"Oh I've just been worried sick for you darlings. And John, oh, poor John." Mom sighed. I just looked down at my shoes, not wanting my own mom to start to make me cry.
"The Watsons were given their five day notice, all of their things need to go and they need to vacate." Mom sighed, looking mournfully at the house that belonged to the Watsons.
"What, why?" I asked in horror.
"Well they're not related to a Victor anymore, are they?" she pointed out.
"That's not fair at all!" I insisted.
"District rules, nothing I can do to change that now." Mom sighed.
"I can pull some strings, I'm sure we can sort this all out." Mrs. Hudson assured.
"Ya, I get a house for being Victor, right?" I asked.
"Well dear, you already have one of those." Mom pointed out.
"No, I won again; they can have the house I won these games, live in that. It's the least I can do after..." I muttered.
"Oh Sherlock, you simply are the nicest little boy I've ever met." Mom exclaimed, hugging me once more. "I'm so glad you're safe." She repeated.
"So am I." I admitted. Mom led me into the house, were my dad and Mycroft were standing in the lobby, waiting to welcome me home.
"We didn't want to go to the platform; we knew it would be a bit depressing." Mom admitted.
"It was a bit saddening." Mrs. Hudson agreed.
"Sherlock, great job in the games, just splendid." My dad insisted, giving me a very firm hand shake, but his smile said enough. He was proud of his son, even though I was such a disappointment beforehand.
"Well, you're alive; I guess that's a good thing." Mycroft muttered, slouching against the wall with a scowl only matched by yours truly.
"Please Mycroft, contain yourself." I snapped.
"Oh don't be so bitter Mikey; you know that you're happy to see your little brother home safe." Mom insisted.
"You don't know my life." Mycroft snapped.
"Oh stop it, give him a hug." Mom insisted.
"No!" both me and Mycroft exclaimed, taking another large step back from each other.
"Ah, siblings." Mrs. Hudson laughed. The door swung open in a large blast, and what remained Watson family stood in the doorway. Mrs. Watson looked a wreck, she was wearing all black and her face was pale and raw from crying. There seemed to be grooves cut into her face form where the tears had streaked down her face.
"Sherlock Holmes." She muttered. "You horrible, traitorous little..." obviously she couldn't finish her own sentence because she bolted at me, grabbing my neck and threw me up against the wall, full out ready to strangle me.
"YOU KILLED MY SON! YOU KILLED MY JOHN!" she screamed as my family all rushed to pry her off, Mrs. Hudson pulling the crazed Mrs. Watson's arms behind her back, no matter how much she tried to struggle.
"YOU PROMISED ME THAT YOU WOULD BE THE ONE TO DIE!" she screamed.
"I tried, don't you see I DIDN'T WANT THIS ANYMORE THAN YOU DID!" I screamed right back, wanting more than anything to get all up in her face and scream louder, but I knew that would just inflict a family vs. family civil war.
"I DIDN'T WANT JOHN TO DIE, I WOULDVE GLADLY TAKEN HIS PLACE BUT HE TRICKED ME!" I screamed.
"It should've been you Sherlock, I told you when you left, it would be a victory if you had bled out." she snarled.
"that's enough!" Molly screamed, pushing Mrs. Watson out the door. "I'm sorry for your loss Mrs. Watson, but please, keep the crazy to yourself!" and with that Molly slammed the door in their faces, dead bolting it with a look a pride on her face.
"Good job Molly." Mrs. Hudson said proudly, clapping her on the back as if trying to say she had taught her everything she knew. It was true though, it was most definitely true.
"She's crazy." I muttered, messaging my throat and trying not to think that the feeling of suffocation had been the last that Jeanette had ever felt.
"Well, I've been cooking a celebratory dinner for you, and I'd be delighted if you all stayed to honor Sherlock's second victory!" My mother insisted with a large smile. She just couldn't really grasp the fact that this all wasn't fun and games. . I sighed, but the crowd followed her into the kitchen, where all of these delicious smells were wafting out of. This left the hall clear even of Mycroft, who had sulked his way to his room to go throw darts at a picture of me. Speaking of a picture of me, the pictures that my mom had hung in the hall were still here, one of Mycroft, one of me, (both of us scowling of course), one of Molly looking purely delighted, and one of John, looking like it had been snipped from a picture of the two of us. She had caught him mid laugh, his golden hair reflecting the sunlight, his beautiful chocolate eyes alight with life, his arm around someone that could only be me. Back when we were happy. 

"Are you coming Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson asked. "Oh, sorry..." she muttered, seeing me gazing at the picture of John.
"No, it's fine, it's fine." I assured.
"If you need some time..." Mrs. Hudson started.
"I said it's fine." I insisted, walking stubbornly into the kitchen. We all sat in the living room while my mother and Mrs. Hudson cooked, the scents wafting out of the kitchen smelling so delicious that it almost made me want to eat. There was no good food like this in the Capital, wherever you go. It may be gourmet and expensive, but nothing beat home cooked. My dad and Molly were in deep conversation about the Capital, life there, people there, food there, and I sat quietly, reclining in one of the armchairs and trying my best to feel at home even though I knew there was no such luck. I had no more home, not since John had died. He was my home, as long as he was present I felt safe, I felt loved, and even though those two things were present here, there was no John and therefore no true happiness. I felt like we should've at least included the Watsons in this feast, after all they were John's mourning parents. But even if we were able to tame Mrs. Watson enough for her to calm down and have an honest meal with us, I felt like I would be under constant death stares from her and her husband. No, best leave them out of this to violently grieve like only angry mother could. When the food was finally ready, at five o'clock, the sun had sunken and the world was quiet once more. We all sat at the table, I was at the head since they insisted this was all for me, Molly and Mrs. Hudson at either side of me. My mom had blown up some balloons and tied them to my chair, which I thought was a bit childish, but thoughtful all the same.
"I propose a toast." My mother said, holding up her glass of champagne. "To Sherlock, who had exceeded our expectations again and again, and made it through his second hunger games! And to John, who gave his life to ensure Sherlock's safety, I will forever be in his debt." She insisted. We all held up our glasses and clinked them together in celebration, but I realized that, for once, my mother was right. We were all in John's debt, he had given his life for me, and there was nothing else I could give him. Nothing I could do to repay him. Except maybe give his parents a place to live.