thecapitol | closed;

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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.

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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?"

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.

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

"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.

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?"

"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."

"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.

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.

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?"

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."

"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."

"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."

"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."

"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."

Edited 2013-02-24 20:53 (UTC)

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..."

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."

"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."

"Temporary or not I have absolutely no intention of being killed again." There was hard ice laced through his voice - an ice that previous to being thrown into the arena would not have been present otherwise. "Of course they act differently between here and the arena but I'm hardly going to ignore data that could otherwise mean our lives later."

He stepped over, right into John's personal space, baring down on him as he spoke incredibly quickly and in a very low tone. Let the capitol strain their ears - and their microphones - if they wished to understand.

"Just because I came back - just because most of us come back - doesn't mean that we all do. Tributes disappear - die in the arena and never appear in the capitol again. It isn't frequent but it is a risk, and I have absolutely no wish to test that."

Ah. Well, that shook things up a little. He nodded, to indicate he'd understood- and also that he'd understood why Sherlock was breathing down his neck.

"I don't have any intention of letting you get killed again either," he said- and he meant it. "So I think we can agree on that."

"Either of us," Sherlock corrected sharply. "You have no intention on allowing either of us to be killed, and nor do I."

He let his mouth quirk into an amused smile, raising his hands in surrender. The truth was, it was reassuring, hearing that fiercely protective edge to Sherlock's voice- though whether anyone else would hear it the same way he did, he couldn't be sure.

"I don't have any intention of allowing either of us to be killed. Happy?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, standing straighter and relaxing slightly.

"No," He said flatly, though it was obvious that he considered the matter settled. "Happy is not a descriptor I would use in this place. Satisfied, yes."

He let out a breath, and looked out of his window onto the city. Their prison.

"Dinner?"

He grinned widely at that, relaxing visibly. None of this made the slightest bit of sense except Sherlock Holmes, and for now, that was almost enough.

Almost.

"Starving. Don't suppose they have dim sum in this ridiculous dystopian future we've got ourselves into?"

"Two places, actually, though some of what they consider 'dim sum' is ridiculous, and only one of them is decent." Sherlock said as he gestured for John to follow him out into the city. "You can tell by the handle on the door..."

John shook his head in amused disbelief. Any doubt he might have had about this man being Sherlock had long since evaporated.

"You can not," he laughed. "Not in this place, I don't believe it for a minute."

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don't mind me i'm a moron

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