Hunger Games: Fandom Style

Reidenbach

The last of the water was gone. Unlike the food, this could not be shrugged off. Sherlock could, he supposed, try and collect some of the water now that flooded the streets, but the data suggested it was likely to be too polluted to be safe.
"A little help would be nice," he said imperiously.
Had he possessed a less logical mind, he would have sworn he heard Irene laugh as the parachute drifted down.

The spell had been easy enough to cast once she got the idea for it. It let Morgana know every time something entered the arena. Then all she had to do was follow it to its source to find the lucky tribute who had just received a gift.
The spell activated.
The Ferris wheel it was.

Sherlock drank the water sparingly. He had no idea when he'd be able to get more.
He needed a better strategy. Hiding drained his resources without inspiring sponsors. Unfortunately, hunting didn't much appeal to him either. Natasha might have been interesting to face off against, but he had missed his chance.
The Ferris wheel creaked alarmingly. He peered over the edge of the car.
Morgana stood below, arms outstretched. The metal of the Ferris wheel twisted and protested at her commands.
Magic. How extraordinary.
Weapons: Himself, none. Morgana, magic.
Wits: Himself, advantage.
Solution: Pending.
"Come out, come out, little tribute. It's time to play the Game."
Sherlock stood as if he hadn't a care in the world. The car shuddered. "I'm too old for games, but I know a few three year olds back at the orphanage who might be interested."
She smiled. "Sherlock Holmes. You remind me of someone. An old flame of mine."
The car jerked sickeningly. Sherlock fell back and cracked his head against one of the old seats.
"It didn't end well between us."
Information. Use it. Think. Don't be stupid, Sherlock. Mycroft's not the only smart one. She's lonely. Use that.
"It's hard, isn't it?" he called. "Being different. Hearing people call you a freak."
The metal twisted even further. "You know nothing of what I've suffered," she hissed.
The structure swayed and bent almost in half.
Think. Think. Think.
There was nothing to deduce. She wore what everyone else wore. It didn't matter where she'd been. There was nothing - Ah. But there was.
There was always Plan B. He pulled the locket from his pocket and flicked it open.
The wheel swayed. "Is that the only party trick you've got?" He yawned. "Because honestly, I'm getting bored."
She screamed in rage. A fireball shot towards him.
He ducked out of sight. The metal burned his bare skin, but he ignored it.
He swallowed a petal of the reidenbach flower.
Then he was falling into nothingness.

A cannon boomed. Morgana pouted. "Well, that was disappointing."
Unease swept over her. Had Emrys heard? He could be anywhere. Watching her. Waiting.
Morgana fled.

Irene rose from her seat slowly, the skin around her blood red nails white.
"Call Jim. I'm going to have to cancel dinner."

John was still yelling at the tv screen, although somewhere along the way he had started to weep. Mycroft wondered why he bothered. Why bother with anything at all?
He just sat there, staring at the wall. Sherlock Holmes was gone.
What was it he had told Sherlock when their parents died?
Caring is not an advantage.
That was it. Emotions were frivolous. Useless. Everyone died. Moaning about it wouldn't change that. John was making a fool of himself for nothing.
He sat there, staring at the wall, until the matron was forced to send for the doctor.
He hadn't even noticed the tears trailing down his cheeks.