semi-open;

[alldeduction]

WHO| Sherlock, everyone from the BBC & CBS cast as well as Mycroft and Lestrade, and anyone else who Sherlock would invite to his last supper (you can check with me if you aren't sure, but i'm leaving it mostly open just in case!)
WHAT| What happened before and after Sherlock "killed" himself on television.
WHEN| Day before the arena, night before that
WHERE| Tribute Tower and a restaurant
WARNINGS| mentions of suicide, death, desecration of a corpse

 

The camera hit the ground and Sherlock waited until it when black and started repeating his note before tearing off the burning jacket. The fire wasn’t even hot - Cinna’s flame material a wonder in itself. It extinguished as he folded it up. His accomplice, a young dark-skinned woman, watched him with hard eyes.

“A little dramatic, but it should distract them,” She said as she pulled the body to the edge, Sherlock moving to help her.

“It will air in five minutes,” he reminded her as he set the body on fire. It was still eerie, seeing his face like this. The wounds that he’d taken during the mini arena had been patched up, they’d dressed him in exactly the same clothes save for the flame-making fabric. He waited for the body to catch, for the fire to spread, with the help of the gasoline they’d doused it in, and then he pushed it off the roof.

Good riddance.

He grabbed the Peacekeeper uniform and slipped into it, shoving the jacket into his midsection to give himself more of a belly before pulling on the helmet. 4 minutes to go.

Silently, they slipped into the elevator. The Tribute tower was already in a panic, but there were so many peacekeepers and scientists running around that no one even spared them a second glance as they arrived at the entrance and simply walked out.

They were several blocks away by the time the feed went live.

Thirty Minutes Prior:

Sherlock breathed deep. The plan was set. Everything in motion. In the next thirty minutes he would either be free, or he and everyone he cared about would be dead. He trusted the Hacker - as far as he could - but that wasn’t particularly far these days. He hadn’t given every piece of the game away, just in case he was betrayed. He watched his computer screen, the program that he’d devised blinked a foreboding ‘begin’ at him. He was already dressed. His supplies were at his side. There was no going back, if he pressed that button. He only had a thirty second window...

He took in a deep breath, and pressed it. Immediately, the feeds of every camera and surveillance system in the tribute tower switched to his carefully pre recorded sets. They wouldn’t stand up to scrutiny, of course, the loops were barely a minute long - but they would play long enough to confuse everyone watching them. They would give him half an hour to relay all the information the could to the people that needed it - though he knew there were even more that did.

But no. Molly. Joan. John. Everyone else would have to wait. Those were the people that would be affected most. He couldn’t risk Punchy knowing anything, couldn’t put him in that sort of danger again. He knew any information he gave anyone was like to a death sentence, if this didn’t work. If he was caught before he managed his escape, if he made a mistake --

He was thinking all this as he was already out the door. Molly first. She would understand best. She would know exactly what needed to be done. Then Joan. She wouldn’t understand, but she would respect it. He hoped. Then John.

That one would be nearly impossible, but he could not leave him to believe that he was dead. Not now. Not after everything.

He didn’t knock on any of their doors, just let himself in. Five minutes was all he had for each. Five minutes to say his goodbyes.

And then he was off to die.

The Night Before:

He didn’t know it would happen so fast. The plan was coming together quickly, the arena was fast approaching, and it was now or never. Jealously, he wanted a night with them all. Not that he particularly liked group gatherings, but something about this one felt important. He needed this, to gear himself up for what was to come. So he sent them all a message. Just a simple one.

The name of a restaurant. (Chinese, or the closest that Panem came to it.) A time. (8 o’clock. Not too early, not too late.)

His Last Supper, as it were, and only he would know what it was.

But something in him, even after all this time, even after everything that happened, just wanted the warm comfort of his family and friends.

One last time.

Comments

Molly

[alldeduction]

[ecphrasis]

The past month had been trying, to say the least. Molly generally prefers to keep to herself, enjoys her privacy--knowing that she's watched every moment of every day had made her a nervous wreck for the first few days. Having Sherlock and John here had helped. They made her feel more comfortable, at least. And now, a month in, it's almost become normal.

Almost.

She's dressed comfortably in sweats and a tank top (the stylists, she's been told, would be appalled) when there's a knock at the door, and it sounds urgent. Nervously, she sets her book aside and pads barefoot to the door, hoping that it isn't someone come to tell her that she's been asked to a party or something. So far it hasn't happened, but she's heard from other tributes that it can--and that it isn't always entirely pleasant.

But when she opens the door to see Sherlock, a smile finds her face, less uneasy than it might have been otherwise. Sadly, that only lasts a moment because she sees something in his face that she'd never wanted to again. Her face falls, but her voice doesn't shake.

"What's happened?"

[alldeduction]

His face was grim when he entered, and he didn't bother trying to mask his expression like he might have done for Joan or John.

"I have to go," He said, his voice even and measured as he approached her. "I'm sorry, Molly. I hadn't meant this to affect anyone else. I hadn't meant to bring you into this, but there's only one way I can see to get us all out, safely, and that means I have to leave you, now."

He paused, let out a breath. "And I will have to ask a favour of you that I already know you've kept already, and that I have no right in the world to ask."

[ecphrasis]

This is no act, she knows that immediately. Molly closes the door behind him, turning and pressing her back against it almost as an extra measure of security. But Sherlock wouldn't have been followed if he looked like this. What he has to say is too important, there's no question.

Molly's mouth drops open at his words, but she forces it to close after a moment. He wouldn't say it if it weren't true. But as he continues to speak, as he moves towards her, she can't help but feel her heart start to beat a little faster. And she's embarrassed for it, even detests herself a little--because this is no time to feel like this. It hadn't been the first time either, and all she could do was repeat, What do you need?

And now he needs something else. He's leaving again, and he needs more from her. But there are no tears, only a deep breath and a slight raising of her shoulders. "You're leaving." She says it again, just to make sure she hasn't misheard (she knows she hasn't). And again, the words come, almost practiced, now from her lips instead of in her mind: "What do you need?"

[alldeduction]

It was rare, really, that he was struck by Molly's strength. The year away from her had indeed caused the heart to grow fonder - his memories making her more than she was, and also less than she was, for it was this that he forgot. She wasn't all kittens and stuttering and blushing and ill-placed make up. He forgot her strength, her quiet resolution.

His lips thinned, and he knew exactly what a wrong he was doing her, but there was nothing to be done.

"Your forgiveness," He said eventually, his voice a little rough. "Your silence."

Joan

[alldeduction]

[formersurgeon]

Joan was with her father when the Peacekeepers burst in on them with chains and a muzzle. Joan yelled at them to leave him alone, cursed at them, fought the Peacekeepers as they dragged her away. Cried out against the sting of the needle as it sank into her arm. Her last moments of consciousness were spent trying to fight as her strength seeped out of her, watching her father, confused and so, so scared, being chained and muzzled like an animal.

When Sherlock entered her room, she was still passed out from the sedative, light bruises forming on her arms from where they had grabbed her.

[alldeduction]

He was afraid that she would still be asleep when he entered her room, and he found himself correct. He cursed himself under his breath as he rushed to her side, leaned down, and shook her shoulder gently, but firmly.

"Joan. You have to wake up. Right now."

[formersurgeon]

She groaned quietly as he shook her, forehead creasing. It took a moment, but she finally opened her eyes, blinking him into focus.

"Sherlock...what..."

[alldeduction]

"I only have five minutes," He said quickly. "I've disabled all the security systems in the building - they are all on a loop, but it won't hold for long. I'm leaving, Joan. I have spent months preparing, but there is no time left, and I have to go."

There was a pause, a grim look. "... And I can't take anyone with me. I'm sorry."

John

[alldeduction]

[drpsychosomatic]

It had seemed like any other day, as far as John was concerned. Every day was much like the last and the next in the dead space between the gruesome spectacle of the Arenas- and even the various psychological tortures the Capitol threw in his path began to feel very much like the ones before. Pain, fear, boredom, pain, fear, boredom.

It was odd, really, how capable he was of getting bored, considering everything...

Contemplating this, he limped through his district's suite, intending on making himself a cup of tea.

[alldeduction]

"John. Your room. Now." The words were out of Sherlock's mouth as soon as he stepped out of the elevator, turning on his heel and heading straight there as he threw the door open. Five minutes. Five minutes was all he had, he was going to make the most of them.

"I've taken down all the security and surveillance systems in the tribute tower," he said as soon as the door closed behind John. "The window is very narrow. I have exactly five minutes, John, but I-- These five minutes are to say goodbye."

[drpsychosomatic]

John's heart was pounding- completely unthinkingly, he'd slipped into parade rest, not a single muscle moving. Something was horribly wrong.

"Sherlock," he said, artificially steady, face and chest and nerves taut. "If you lied to me, if you bloody lied to me, when you said you wouldn't do this again..."

[alldeduction]

He held up his hand. "John. Please. I'm leaving. Everything's been arranged. Whatever you see in the next thirty minutes - and you will see it, John, because I need to cover my tracks - I will still be alive. And safe."

And alone. His lips thinned.

"You were right, John. I can't keep doing the arenas. I cannot keep waiting endlessly for death. But it is die, or fight. And now that I know that you'll be safe... It's time to fight."

The Last Supper

[alldeduction]

Sherlock was nervous. Not that he admitted it, even to himself, but he was. He arrived half an hour prior to when he invited them all, had all the food pre-ordered so that it would arrive as they did - piping hot and delicious.

One of the few things the Capitol could do right. The food was always delicious, even if it wasn't correct.

He twiddled his thumbs, glaring at the door of the private room as he waited for them, one by one.


[Feel free to start your own threads under this one, guys, and reply to eachother or not. It will be easier than doing one big 8 person thread...]

Re: The Last Supper

[formersurgeon]

It had been the first time in a while that Sherlock had actually contacted her, rather than her seeking him out. So Joan was a little taken aback by the invitation, and wondered what had changed.

What was wrong.

When she arrived, she was shown to the private room, and raised her eyebrows as she saw the setup. She would guess there was room for at least ten people.

"We're having a party?"

[alldeduction]

Sherlock looked up as the first guest arrived, and wasn't surprised.

"I've been told I'm anti-social," He said, sarcastically. "And that I've been lax in introducing my guests. I thought this might rectify everything enough in one fell swoop that I would be left alone to my own devices for a couple of weeks."

[formersurgeon]

"Anti-social," she said with an amused smile as she sat down. "Putting it a little mildly. Seriously, though, thanks for arranging this. I'm really looking forward to meeting your brother. Formally."

[alldeduction]

Sherlock made a low groan and rolled his eyes. "You shouldn't. He's infuriating." Said the pot of the Kettle.

"I sent an invite to your... friend, as well," He said, unwilling to quite give Sherlock's name. "Though whether or not he actually attends is anyone's guess."

[ecphrasis]

The last party Sherlock had invited her to had been at Christmastime. In spite of certain apologies and an unexpected kiss, Molly was not overly fond of the memory.

But he's changed since then. He cares more--or, at least, he's better at pretending he does. Molly shakes her head to rid herself of the thought. No, of course he cares. Sherlock is, when it comes down to it, still human. That's one of the things that has helped her heart stay open for so long. Knowing that he does care on some level is more than enough, even if it isn't the way she wants him to care. Wanted him to. Sometimes she isn't sure if she should think about it in the past or present tense. Maybe this place will help her figure it out somehow.

Molly has always been an optimist. She knocks at the door, pulling on the hem of her sweater but smiling all the same. They may be trapped here, but at least she and Sherlock and John have each other.

Hope this is okay :)

[formersurgeon]

A little while after Molly entered the room, Joan approached her. She had a second-hand awareness of the woman, knew she was part of John and Sherlock's world, and had some sense of how important she was to both of them.

"Hey," she said with a smile. "Molly, right? I don't think we've actually been introduced." She offered her hand. "I'm Joan."

of course!

[ecphrasis]

Molly had heard of Joan as well, but hadn't had the chance to meet her yet. When the other woman introduces herself, a smile automatically finds its way to Molly's lips. The handshake is received with enthusiasm that may seem out of place considering the environment. "Hello! It's nice to finally meet you."

[alldeduction]

Sherlock immediately stood to the knock, and offered a warm if not quite completely honest smile when he found Molly on the other side of it.

"Molly. Good. Come in. Only Joan has arrived, so far, we're still waiting on the others."

[ecphrasis]

Molly prides herself on being able to read people fairly well--but the skill always seems to fail her when it comes to Sherlock. His smile is returned with one of her own, as genuine as any, and she bobs her head in greeting. "Right, good. I'd hate to have been late."