I Volunteer

Volunteering

Sherlock sighed from his place in the crowd, scowling as John bumped him with a hiss to be quiet. Sherlock grumbled but fell silent as the beginning of the reaping began with the same boring speech about the War. Sherlock was bored, it really was just a formality that he was here there was only a .00001 chance that his name would be drawn. Mycroft using his skills pulling strings made sure that Sherlock's name was only in the reaping once instead of the usual 7 times as was required of all 18 years old. Sherlock was more worried about his friend John, who had his name in 42 because of tesserae. Sherlock hated that his only friend was at risk for being reaped, he tried to convince John not to put his name in so many times but John had shut down that discussion very quickly refusing to talk to Sherlock about it. Sherlock knew that John did it to support his sister and mother and refused Sherlock when he tried to offer him money. John was to stubborn and refused to take Sherlock's charity, it was the biggest row they ever had, and they still hadn't fully made up. But this was the last year for both of them, and once it was over Sherlock knew that they would be able to put it all behind them.

"Ladies first" said the puppet of the Capital, Kitty Reilly, reaching into the bowl and selecting a name. "Mary Morstan"

From out of the group of 17 year old girls walked a petite girl with short cropped blonde hair; her face was blank as she walked up the steps to stand on the stage. Sherlock grew tenser as the woman made her ways to the boys bowl. He watched as her manicured fingers skimmed the top of the names before diving deep and picking out a single name. Walking back to the microphone she carefully opened up the piece of paper and smiled as she read out with a clear voice.

"Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock froze, his eyes automatically going to his brother Mycroft who looked as stricken as he felt. No, he only had his name in once, this should not have happened. It was against the odds, he must of misheard, surely they said someone else. He was snapped out of his shock by two Peacekeepers he recognized as Donavan and Anderson grabbed him by his elbows when he hadn't moved and began to lead drag him to the stage, but they hadn't made it more than a few steps when a voice spoke up next to him.

"I volunteer" came a painfully familiar voice, "I volunteer as tribute". Sherlock whipped his head to the side his eyes widening with horror as he realized who had just spoke. John was looking back at him calmly even as Donavan and Anderson released him and motioned John to walk forward. This snapped Sherlock in moving forwards.

"John" he half-way shouted as he tried to grab his friend as he moved to walk towards the podium. But peace keepers came from both sides boxing John in as they escorted him to the stage. Sherlock could only watch in horror as John climbed the stairs to stand next to the Kitty who smiled at him.

"My, my, my I do believe you are the first volunteer this district has had, what is your name dear?" she asked so sickly sweet.

"John Watson" John replied with a steady voice, his eyes finding Sherlock in the crowd. Sherlock could feel tears gathering in his eyes as he looked at John, but he didn't care his best friend was going to the arena where the odds were defiantly not in his favor.

"Well John Watson, I'm betting Mr. Holmes is a friend" she said trying to understand the reasoning, trying to give the people viewing a story.

John eyes flicked to look at her before going back to Sherlock, "My best friend" he replied softly.

"Well he must be a very good friend" said the Kitty smiling at John before turning back to the crowd. "Let's give Ms. Morstan and Mr. Watson a big hand" she said clapping trying to encourage the rest of the people. Except no one applauded, and Sherlock was surprised as he watched his brother Mycroft who liked and excelled in keeping in the shadows carefully lifted his hand to his lips and kissed his three fingers and slowly lifted them his pinky and thumb curled into his palm. It is an old and rarely used gesture of their district, occasionally seen at funerals. It meant thanks, it meant admiration, it meant goodbye to someone you love. It was the greatest sign of respect Mycroft could give this boy who was sacrificing his life for his baby brother.