closed;

[alldeduction]

WHO| Sherlock, Crenteus and introducing John Watson
WHAT| Sherlock gets really fed up, and gets punished for it
WHERE| District 3 Suite, then Crenteus' office, and then in the hall just outside her office
WHEN| A couple days after valentines
WARNINGS| Sherlock being a dick but that's pretty standard

If Valentine's had taught him anything it was that he was utterly and completely tired of this place. The tiny x's that he had drawn to mark every camera in District 3's suites had been bothering him, gloating sullenly, and Sherlock had just about enough of it. In a fit of petulance he woke up in the morning and strode straight to the first camera in his room, glared into it, and then dismantled it.

He proceeded to do so with every camera he got his hands on in the suite.

He was about an hour and a half into this exercise (and 16 cameras down) when he was interrupted, hands freezing in the giant potted plant in the corner as the peacekeepers arrived. He smirked at them, and tossed the remnants of the camera at their feet.

"Took you long enough," He said triumphantly.

Neither of them said anything at all as they grabbed him bodily and dragged him from the suite. Sherlock considered attempting to wrestle from their grip, but in truth he was tired of seeing only the bottom of the totem pole. He wanted to know who was at the top. Or at least who these two particular brutes reported to. So down they dragged him, down down deep into the training center, far below what he had ever traveled down to. His silent sentinels finally came to a stop outside a door and shoved him less than gracefully inside.

He straightened his jacket, narrowed eyes surveying the room.

Comments

[drpsychosomatic]

John stared, lips parted. That was definitely Sherlock, and that was definitely death. There was no way the bifurcated man on the screen could be the man standing in front of him, and probably no way either of them were Sherlock, come to think of it.
He fought off the urge to take a step further away from whatever he was sharing the room with furiously.

"I would... really like to wake up now," he said mostly to himself, his fingers balled in tight fists at his sides. "Look, I don't know what the hell is going on here, Sherlock, but you can't-- you can't tell me you've died, and stand there complaining about it. No. Doesn't work like that."

[alldeduction]

"Yes, I can." Sherlock snapped, shutting off the screen as it switched to the gruesome death of another tribute. "I can. After having to go through that, I think I am well within my rights to complain as much as I like."

The truth was that he'd barely complained at all, barely even mentioned it, but with John here it was impossible to keep all his frustrations caged behind his lips.

"None of it makes any sense and yet for all intents and purposes is real."

[drpsychosomatic]

"I wasn't referring to the complaining so much as the being here to do it, but no. Sorry, Sherlock, but no. There's no way you can be the same man as the one I just saw killed. I know death, alright? I've seen enough of it, and..."

He trailed off, uselessly. What difference did it make if he believed it or not? The unbelievable was all he really had to go on.

"So what do we do?" he asked eventually, setting his shoulders square.

[alldeduction]

"I agree," Sherlock said firmly, before slipping hands to his shirt and undoing the first few buttons, pulling it and his jacket down from his shoulder. He ignored the question for the more pressing discussion - something that had been bothering him since he had woken up again, safe and sound, back inside the capitol.

"See? No mark. Nothing." He replaced the clothing and then held up his hands. "My fingers were almost black with frostbite, and you can't even tell. I'm afraid my knowledge of science fiction isn't acute enough to theorize." The bitterness was more than obvious.

[drpsychosomatic]

John frowned, crossed the remaining distance between them to take Sherlock's hands in his, examining his fingers thoughtfully.
"Well, however you were reconstructed, if that's what we're going on, they very carefully gave you your scars back," he pointed out, gesturing to the minute scarring on Sherlock's hands. "So... I don't know. I suppose it's unlikely you're a clone, not that it's something I've ever dealt with, exactly."

[alldeduction]

He didn't flinch or move as John took his hands, though he looked down at them.

"Yes. I've checked - everything is as identical as I remember to the moment I left, and anything that happened to me in the arena is gone. Whatever technology it is, it is far beyond anything currently available in our time period."

[drpsychosomatic]

He wet his lips and let go of Sherlock's hands, trying not to think about how ridiculous it all sounded.

"Anything that happened in the Arena apart from the inevitable psychological damage, you mean," he corrected. "Perhaps the arena is some kind of virtual reality? Not that it explains how we're here in the first place. I don't know. I assume you haven't found a way back."

[alldeduction]

"It was real," Sherlock said forcefully. "Or as near to it as to make no difference. If they are able to recreate reality in a virtual medium to that level of detail, there's no way to prove we aren't part of it now."

He shook his head to the question. "No. I have yet to determine how they even brought us here, let alone how to return. But as far as I can tell it is entirely a one-way trip."

[drpsychosomatic]

He sighed, glancing at the camera and back to Sherlock, clearly mulling everything he'd been told over.

"I just don't understand why. If this civilisation has developed to the point where they have the ability to raise people from the dead, advanced medical science... why they would steal people from the past to watch them kill each other. Wouldn't they also have the technology to fix whatever problem it is they're trying to distract people from with all this?"

[alldeduction]

Sherlock threw up his hands, but said nothing.

He didn't need to. His frustration with the entire situation was clear enough. It had been eating at hims since he got here, and unleashed it like a wave upon John as soon as he appeared, but he had no answers.

"I cannot possibly theorize," He said eventually.

[drpsychosomatic]

"Bricks without clay. Right. Well, we'll just have to find you some clay, then," John decided. "Are we allowed out of here?"

[alldeduction]

"Yes." Sherlock said, making an abrupt motion and heading towards the window. "We're currently in the Training Center, which houses the Tributes and our District Quarters - What is your district, by the way? Probably too much to ask for them to have put us in the same one. However, we're allowed the use of the city..."

He stepped right up to the window and gestured out to the massive city wordlessly.

[drpsychosomatic]

He frowned. He hadn't realised there was a chance they would be separated. The minute Sherlock had appeared, he'd assumed...

"Seven, they said," he supplied quietly, joining Sherlock at the window. "Which are you?"

[alldeduction]

"Two." He spent a moment looking out the window before abruptly turning and striding towards the door - not really checking whether John was following or not, but assumed he was.

"We can come and go between suites as we please, but you'll have your own - ah - suitemates. As I have mine."

[drpsychosomatic]

"Who'd want me for a flatmate," he muttered to himself with a wry smile, watching Sherlock whirl off as per usual. It was second nature to catch up and follow, by now- which he did, grimly.

[alldeduction]

Sherlock did not hear him and indeed didn't stop, making his way up to the District Two suites.

"My quarters are up here. Who is in your district is entirely up to the Game Makers, though I imagine they actually held significance at one point. Each district is an area of the state - which beyond the Capitol seems to be a totalitarianism regime - though it's hard to say, considering we see very little about them, here. The Capitol seems to be the central power and hedonistic center of the world. Whether or not there are states beyond Panem is impossible to say - there's absolutely no information on the rest of the world that I could find anywhere. Ah, here we are."

He opened the door and let John into the huge, lavish, suite. All evidence of Sherlock's previous 'adventure' with the cameras was gone. He sneered slightly but said nothing about it.

[drpsychosomatic]

John wet his lips, examining the violently clashing decor sceptically for a moment before stepping through into the suite. There was an awful lot to take in, and not just visually.

"So you've never been beyond the Capitol? Are we allowed to leave?"

[alldeduction]

Sherlock shook his head. "No. Not that they consider that odd - I doubt many people who live in the capitol ever leave its borders. What on earth could we want from the outside?" He said with a scoff.

"Though the Arenas, of course, are outside the capitol. I couldn't place the last one we were in - I believe the climate has changed since - ah - our time. Or they are able to acutely control the weather." He paused. "Or both."

[drpsychosomatic]

"Well, I'd say it's safe to assume that if they can put two halves of you back together that they can control the weather," John agreed. "Though... I wonder. There's something that just doesn't sit right about people with that amount of power doing this with it. Something's wrong, here."

He offered Sherlock a wry smile. "Beyond us being potentially forced to kill each other, I mean."

[alldeduction]

"Everything is wrong with this place," Sherlock corrected him sharply, glaring up at a camera. "You can come and go as you please - if anyone in the suite gives you trouble let me know and I'll deal with it." Though he didn't expect any of them to.

He gestured for John to follow him before leading him to his rooms. "Here. Those are mine. They aren't labeled but I assume you can remember basic layouts."

[drpsychosomatic]

"I think I can probably manage, yes," he replied lightly, his smile still lingering. "Do you know anyone in mine? It'd be nice to have some idea of what to expect."

don't mind me i'm a moron

[alldeduction]

"No. Not personally. There's plenty of information on them, however, whenever you turn on your television." He waved vaguely in the direction of his. "I believe the only one left in the arena is Momoko, interestingly enough."

[drpsychosomatic]

He pursed his lips thoughtfully for a moment. "You know... having been a soldier, Sherlock, I'm not sure how much you can learn about someone by watching them kill people. Beyond the fact that they can kill. I don't think many people would take me for a killer, but..."

[alldeduction]

Sherlock looked back at him with a mildly impatient look on his face. "You can learn a wealth of information watching anyone do anything, John." He reminded him flatly.

"Watching them commit murder is hardly the least informative action. You can learn whether or not they were trained to use lethal force, at the very least, which can mean life or death if you come face to face with them later. Whether or not they have the capacity to kill is not exactly the issue. And trust me when I say that death in the arena has very little to do with ability, often enough."

[drpsychosomatic]

"Not exactly what I meant," John replied, carefully. "Yes, you can learn about their training and so on, and that's useful. But if dying in the arena is only temporary, doesn't it make sense to try and work out what people are like here, where they're not likely to try murdering us? Strangely enough, being put in a kill or be killed situation makes people act very differently than they would naturally."