(no subject)

[drpsychosomatic]

WHO| John and you!
WHAT| John didn't wake up in the capitol following his death in the museum arena until today. He has no idea how long he's been gone. He's about to find out.
WHEN| Before the crowning
WHERE| District 7 suite
WARNINGS| None yet, though some mentions of suicidal ideation may crop up.

It was always strange, waking up after dying, gasping, blinking far too rapidly as his mind screamed a message to his body that made no sense. Once the skin-crawling horror of knowing he was dead even as he steadied himself and focused on his very definite pulse had subsided, John supposed the day it stopped being strange would be the one he'd have to throw in the towel completely. There'd be no going back from that.

He staggered upright, rubbed at his eyes and slumped towards the bathroom to splash some water on his tired face, sending a message to Sherlock and Joan on his communicator to let them know he was back in the Capitol once he was done- I'm alive- a brief skeleton of a message, because there was a possibility that Sherlock hadn't been brought back- and while he knew that perfectly clearly on an intellectual level, he couldn't even begin to process it emotionally. Short, mostly impersonal messages that took as little effort as possible were just about all he could bring himself to potentially fling into the void.

He supposed he should check on Howard, too- he'd still been alive, last time he'd seen him, though in a pitiful state. Clutching his communicator, he limped slightly into the common area to check on the Games and wait for Sherlock and Joan to catch up with him. 

If they were here.
 

Comments

[alldeduction]

It had been weeks.

He'd given up. He'd stopped going to the Avoxes daily, asking one to watch John's rooms for him. The games had long since finished, and he saw little reason that John would come back. It was done, it was over. He'd been so convinced that he was going to die for real, this time, for good, and they'd taken John instead.

He almost didn't bother to check his communicator when it dinged with a recieved message. He only did because it was right there at hand, on the side of his table where he was hunched over his computer, and he let his eyes glance in its direction.

Two words.

I'm alive.

He didn't even bother to reply as he leapt out of his chair, his suite door slamming shut behind him. In two minutes and thirty seconds, he was in the District seven common room.

"John?" He barked, immediately upon exiting the elevator.

[drpsychosomatic]

Relief smacked into his chest like a punch- hard enough that it could hardly be called relief, really. Did relief hurt? He was fairly sure it wasn't supposed to, but his certainly did more frequently than not.

"Here," he called, getting up from the chair where he'd parked himself. "I'm here-"

[alldeduction]

Sherlock made a beeline for him, the fury practically radiating off him as he grabbed John by the shoulders and shook him, just to make sure that the man was real.

But he was. He was solid, and complete, and looking exactly the same as he did after every arena.

"Weeks. Weeks," He spat out, angrily, though he wasn't angry with John. "I was certain you were dead."

[drpsychosomatic]

John blinked- looking extremely bewildered by Sherlock's reaction for the few seconds it took him to process what he was saying. (The shaking and the snapping wasn't new, exactly, but it did seem a bit more disproportionate than usual.)

"How can it have been weeks?" he asked, genuinely lost. "I just woke up, just now. Killer headache, but..."

[formersurgeon]

Joan's grief had been nothing compared to Sherlock's, of course. And it helped that John not returning meant she had to look after Sherlock. Helped her ignore her own pain in order to focus on not allowing Sherlock's to fully consume him.

So the stab of emotion...shock, but with a heady amount of hope...at seeing that message nearly took her by surprise. How much she wanted John to be alive, and not just because of Sherlock.

She rushed to the district seven suite, and upon entering the common room saw the two men, together, talking intensely, Sherlock gripping John's shoulders. She stopped short, not wanting to interrupt this. As overjoyed and relieved as she was to see John alive, this was about them, not her.

[alldeduction]

"The Arena ended, Mindy won, and you still hadn't returned," Sherlock said darkly, not really noticing or caring that he was still gripping John's shoulders. "It took them a week to bring me back but there was absolutely no sign that they intended on resurrecting you at all."

His lips parted - as if about to say something more, and then thinned suddenly into a tight line. He wasn't going to be sentimental. He could feel, more than see, Joan enter the room.

[drpsychosomatic]

"I wonder what changed their minds," he murmured- Sherlock's urgent intensity making his heart race. He'd felt slightly numb, earlier, but now he felt taut, worried and sharp.
He caught movement out of the corner of his eye, turning his head without moving out of Sherlock's grip. Joan. Another slam of relief.

"Joan. Sorry- Sherlock was just explaining. I'm late, apparently."

[asklepian]

Julian looked up as the door that had been closed for longer than any of the others swung open--he'd missed John Watson's return, at some point, though he knew it had taken an abnormally long time.

He pulled out one of his earplugs, and while John was in the bathroom, went to the kitchen. They might not have replicators persay, but there was always water kept hot, and all the tea his British heart could desire.

He brings a tray with two cups, milk, and sugar back to the common room with him, taking his then setting the tray down at John's elbow before folding himself into a chair nearby.

"Welcome back."

[drpsychosomatic]

John offered Julian a weary but pleasantly surprised and grateful smile. Julian was, quite honestly, the only other person in the Capitol who could make a decent cup of tea- and now more than ever, he appreciated it. "Thanks," he said, picking his up and cradling it in his hands. "You're sure you're not a mind-reader?"

[asklepian]

"One-hundred percent human, me. Not a trace of Betazoid or Vulcan to be had." He just thought it would have been nice, for a friendly face to show up after he'd awoken.

"That is to say, yes, I'm sure." Because he couldn't expect John to know the reference he was making, after all.

"Wasn't sure what you took for milk and sugar though, and if there's ever a moment for indulgence..." Well, it was probably now.

[drpsychosomatic]

"It's after being brought back from the dead so you can fight to the death for the entertainment of others," he finished for him with a wry laugh, sobering up quickly enough. He added milk, no sugar, and sipped at his tea. "Again. Sounds about right."

[asklepian]

Julian smiles back, then sobers.

"For a while there, I wasn't sure they were going to bring you back. They certainly took their time about it." Julian wasn't used to sitting on his hands and waiting, and now that he's had to do it, finds that he doesn't appreciate the experience. "How many times does this make, for you?"

Julian wasn't sure, and he wasn't about to go looking in the records--he didn't care to watch when he didn't have to.

[drpsychosomatic]

"Five," John said- a short, simple word, after a moment's thought. He stared into his tea. "About five times too many, if you ask me. Maybe they thought five was enough and something changed their minds- who knows. Your second one, wasn't it?"

Or was it only his first? John couldn't remember.

[asklepian]

"Second, yes." Not that he'd accomplished much in either, but...considering what they were expected to accomplish, he was perfectly fine with that.

"Johanna is already pushing me to 'do better'." He shakes his head, and stares into his tea. Not that he can divine anything from it.

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

John doesn't have to wait long until Howard finds him. Howard has downloaded a little function on his communicator that allows him to keep track of who's returned, and he's been very close to mourning John before he sees the little alert. He gets out of bed immediately, throws on shoes and a heavy coat that goes down past his knees and pulls a hood over his head. And he shuffles over the elevator and heads up to District Seven.

He waits in the lounge until Sherlock is far, far away before coming to John's room and knocking lightly at the door.

"John. John, are you there?"

[drpsychosomatic]

"Yeah, I'm here," John replied- sounding a little tired, but in a much better frame of mind than he had in the arena. "Hang on, I'll-"

There was a brief pause, the sound of John getting up- and the door opened. John's face was tired, but he was otherwise healthy and whole- and the sight of Howard looking much more human and healthy (though hideously undernourished, again) made him smile.

"Hey. Sorry about the wait."

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

"It's okay. Can I come in?"

Howard looks less mangled, but still not especially well. He's clearly nervous, and even the last few weeks in the Capitol haven't seemed to have put weight back onto his frame or take the dark circles from under his eyes, so deep they almost seem like bruises. Still, it's an improvement from the Arena.

But he doesn't wait for John to answer before he wraps his arms around John's body, pulling him into a tight hug.

"I'm so glad you're alive," he whispers. "I was so worried."

[drpsychosomatic]

John accepted the embrace without the slightest hesitation, his arms wrapping easily around Howard's thin frame to hug him as reassuringly as he knew how.
"It's alright," he assured him quietly, giving him a squeeze before drawing back. "I had no idea I'd been gone so long. You okay?"

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

Howard shrugs, wanting to cling to John a little longer but accepting the distance being put between them. "Yeah. I put our petitions in yesterday."

[drpsychosomatic]

He frowned. Petition, he could have wrapped his head around. Petitions, not so much. "You did what?"

[deafscythe]

Justin Law is the reason that most Tributes in District 7 wear earplugs. He tends to have obnoxious rock music blasting from his room at a volume that shakes the walls. Currently, however, there is a different set of sounds in the common area. This is because Justin is sitting on the couch watching replays of the last Arena, with the volume turned all the way up.

When John enters, the boy waves casually at him.

[drpsychosomatic]

John grimaced- the volume really was impossibly loud, and he really wasn't in the mood. He waved back none the less.
"Do you mind?"

[deafscythe]

Justin hits the mute button. On screen, the new Sherlock Holmes gets blown up in dramatic slow motion.

"Did you just revive?"

[drpsychosomatic]

John stared at the screen a little longer than was strictly necessary before very pointedly returning his gaze to Justin, ignoring the continuing broadcast.

"A bit late, yes. Looks like I have a bit of catching up to do."

[deafscythe]

"Yes, you do." Justin's got some catching up to do himself. "Is there anyone you were particularity concerned about?"