When Luck Runs Out

Nightmares And Reality (Same Thing)

There was a fantastic spread of food on the table; a giant roasted chicken, rosemary potatoes, carrots with dill, mashed potatoes, buttered corn, steaming rolls, and green beans all assorted in large bowls. It was like the Capital's meal choices, but more homelike, more loving. It wasn't prepared by toungless Avoxes; it was made by my own mother, made with love. For the first time in what felt like forever, I loaded up my plate and intended to eat it all.
"I was so worried Sherlock, but when you got your score, a seven, I knew that you had improved so much from last year. And then the interview when you actually answered him, I was so proud." Mom insisted through bites of chicken.
"I especially liked you in the games this year son, you made us proud. Taking that Moriarty fellow, I saw him in his previous games, he was lethal. And this year, if anything, he was even worse. He cut down the competition like corn, but he seemed to be saving you and John for last. Was there any grudge he wanted to play out on you?" Dad asked.
"Nothing I can think of. I met him last year while trying to get sponsors, maybe that's why?" I asked.
"I think it was because they weren't the only love story in those games, and they wanted to make sure they were the ones that mattered." Mrs. Hudson guessed.
"I felt kind of bad. I know now how it feels to lose someone you love, and Jim, having to see Moran die, I feel bad." I admitted.
"Moran was killed by Greg, not you. And he deserved it, those two were criminals, maniacs, not deserving of your sympathy at all." Mom insisted.
"I could be a criminal and a maniac as well; I am according to Mrs. Watson." I pointed out.
"We know you for more than what you do on TV Sherlock. We know you didn't want to kill those people, we know that you were just doing what you had to, to protect John." Molly insisted.
"Moran and Jim liked it, they said it themselves, they loved to kill people." Mrs. Hudson agreed. I didn't want to point out that I liked killing as well. I loved the thrill and the power it gave me, to watch someone's light leave, to feel their breathing scatter, to know that you had taken the power of God into your own hands and sliced away his own creations. And that made me a maniac as well. And they still pitied me. When our dinners were finished (I had actually eaten an entire plate of food, and was, for the first time in forever, actually full), we cleared the plates and Mom carried out two enormous pies, one cheery and the other apple. Unfortunately though, they weren't enjoyed quite as much as they should've been, considering we were all too full to move.
"That was simply splendid Mrs. Holmes, thank you so much." Mrs. Hudson decided.
"How long are you in town for?" Mom asked, eating a small bit of apple filling from her plate before putting her fork down in defeat.
"I'm here on Capital permission, to make sure that my two Victors are settled in and all of that." Mrs. Hudson shrugged. "Since this year was such an emotional time."
"Excellent idea." Mom agreed, but she looked a little bit jealous. I knew why of course, she decided that over these few years Mrs. Hudson was considered my other mother. The one that took over when my real mother wasn't around to baby me. My own mom was being possessive over me. I kind of found that funny, in a totally not funny way.
"Well, I best be off, I'm exhausted." I decided. "Thank you for the meal mom, and goodnight to you all."
"If I hear screaming, I'll know Mrs. Watson managed to break in, and I'll come and bash a few heads." Molly insisted.
"I'm sure you will." I agreed with a laugh. "Goodnight everyone." They all mumbled their goodnights, except Mycroft of course, who looked too bitter to really say anything. I walked out of my parent's house into the chilly night, unlocking my house for the first time and carrying both the bags in. I wasn't entirely sure what I was going to do with John's bag, but it was better to have it than to have left it at the flat. The house was dark, of course, but I changed that with a simple switch of the lights. The long chandelier illuminated the house depressingly. The whole house was so empty; obviously I hadn't been living here in a while. I took both bags up to my room and felt, for the first time in a while, alone. I closed the door to my room but kept the light on down stairs, because it made me feel like there was at least someone around. But I knew that there was no one down stairs, after all of those days with Molly and Mrs. Hudson in the rooms next to mine, and John snuggled so close to me through the night, as I walked into my room I realized just how alone I really was. I dropped the bags on my bed and changed into my pajamas, breaking into my own supply of cigarettes I had stashed in my house before I had left. They were hidden deep in my dresser, so that when my mom or Mrs. Hudson went to put my clean laundry back in they wouldn't find the package. I took one of the cigarettes out and light it with the red lighter I had, sitting on the edge of my bed in the dark, breathing in the ash filled smoke, filling my lungs and exhaling, sending the smoke out of my nostrils and flooding the air around me. It felt good; it felt beyond good, to finally have my raving mind slightly at ease. I knew that the brain numbing was the morphine's job, but I wasn't in dire need, at least not yet. I sat there smoking the cigarette until finally nothing was left but the filter, and then threw it, still smoldering, into the trash can. Maybe I'd get lucky and it would burn down my house. I then hid the pack and the lighter behind my clothes and threw the bags off of my bed, sliding underneath my covers. It felt empty without the so familiar presence of someone next to me. It felt cold without John's heat, and unsafe without him pressed so close to me every night. I lay in the bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering if I dared go to sleep. After all, a meager cigarette wasn't enough to keep the nightmares away. If I closed my eyes I would have to go back, back to where it all happened, but what if that was a good thing? I'd get to see John again, even if he was dying, maybe I'd surpise myself and have a good dream, maybe one where we finally get to live our lives together, maybe I'd have a dream where we got to get married. So I took the chance, I rolled the dice and hoped for the best, and closed my eyes.