[open]

[alldeduction]

Who| Sherlock Holmes and OPEN!
What| Sherlock returns from the dead and isn't very happy about it, and the events that happen leading up to and after the interview with the capitol. He'll basically be wandering around scowly-like so feel free to run into him anywhere. District 2 mates feel free to pounce on him when he gets in, and he'll also be showing up in District 7.
Where| Wherever!
When| From Sherlock's death up to current
Warnings/Notes| Might have graphic description of his death in the arena, if it comes up, otherwise none.


Sherlock half-hoped that he wouldn't wake up this time. That perhaps after all, the world still made logical sense and he couldn't return from the dead, perhaps that after the second time of feeling his life leave him he would be left to rest in a semblance of peace.

But it wasn't to be.

He woke up with a shuddering start, breath slamming into his lungs as he sucked it in like drowning. His hand immediately went to his chest but there was nothing there - no bruise, no shattered sternum, no broken bones. His lungs functioned normally. He was clean, again, and the ravenous gnawing hunger in his stomach was gone. He sat up. Exactly the same as he was the first time he had been brought here. The first time he had died.

He scowled, darkly, at nothing, and threw himself from the bed. Fine. This time, he would be prepared. This time, he would have a plan.  And he did have one. Oh, but he did.

Comments

[alldeduction]

Finally Sherlock peeled himself from the couch, languidly, turning to get a good look at Tim, eyes narrowed.

"Wayne... Interesting, there's another tribute named Wayne." He made no assumptions from the fact - sharing a name did not imply sharing anything else, though it was relatively uncommon here as a tribute, it was not impossible. "Bruce Wayne, if I recall correctly."

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Tim has expected people to be making that connection, and he made no attempt to hide it. He could have introduced himself with the name Drake, but father and son was more interesting for television. "Bruce is my father. He adopted me after my father was killed."

He took another bite of the pear, chewing it slowly as he considered if there was more to say. Everything else about it that situation was too painful or too revealing. Tim would want to clear things with Bruce first.

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He raised an eyebrow - he hadn't realized that they brought in family units - though he supposed he wasn't entirely surprised. However once it occurred to him, he made a small face to himself with the thought that the Capitol might bring in Mycroft.

If they did that, he might have to append his no-kill policy.

"Adoptive father." It made sense - he saw no familial markings between the two men, but adoption negated the need for genetic similarity. "Interesting. As far as I'm aware, that would make the two of you the only father/son relationship among the tributes." He paused, tilted his head. "Or indeed, family link. Though we have quite a few more tributes now."

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"They seem to be fond of worlds like mine. I know four other tributes besides Bruce." Tim had been giving this some thought. There were tributes who seemed to know each other well, but this kidnapping ploy had been running for nearly a year now. It was hard to determine whether the relationship had been formed prior to that without knowing them all personally.

The obvious answer was that Tim's world was stocked with people who knew how to fight and in some cases were prepared to kill - stock that the Capitol would want for the Arena. He didn't want to know whether they had just been lucky in finding the six of them or if they'd also drug in kids like Blaine. Tim hoped that they weren't summarily executing anyone they thought was too weak to be even cannon fodder. Horrific thought.

"How do you know John Watson?"

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"Six of you," Sherlock said, raising an eyebrow. That was certainly more than he would have expected, from any one place.

To Tim's question, however, he glanced back towards John's rooms.

"He was my partner, back home." He looked back at Tim. "I'm more accustomed to rooming with him, but they don't take preference into account, here."

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"Six of us," Tim confirmed. It made them sound formidable, somehow, like a roving gang through the Arena, when they had splintered off into pairs or found other groups. He still hadn't found all of them here. But as a number, it was impressive.

He followed Sherlock's gaze down the hall. Partners. He tried to decide how the word was meant. Batman and Robin were partners, but so were Green Arrow and Black Canary. Two entirely different meanings, but the word preference came loaded down with implications. He wasn't going to comment on it either way, but he liked to know things. "Maybe you can't officially make this your floor, but I haven't seen anything that's going to keep you from rooming with him."

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"I think my escort would heavily disagree," Sherlock said, his eyes darkening slightly. He offered a stiff smile. "Apparently it isn't appreciated when I'm not where I'm meant to be."

Or when he fiddles with security cameras.

The fact that John proooobably would not want to actually have to share a room with Sherlock does not once, at any point in this conversation, enter Sherlock's mind.

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"I think that would depend on how you presented it to your escort and what the Capitol's opinion on the two of you is, exactly," Tim shot back. "If you blaze ahead and do it, with no explanation or apology, then no, it won't go over well. It's all in how you frame it. You're from the same world. You know each other well. He's your partner. You feel comfortable with him, and we both know that comfortable means safe."

This wasn't hard to figure out. Everyone with a decent amount of intelligence who lived in the 21st century or beyond should know what spin was and how to do it - manipulation in a media-fueled world wasn't knew. "Give them something that shows that it's where you're meant to be."

[alldeduction]

Sherlock's lip twitched, and he was silent for a moment, watching Tim as the gears ground behind his eyes. Finally the smile actually appeared - a real one, just ever so slightly amused, but more honest than the one he'd forced before.

"... Thank you." He said, eventually, sounding actually touched. "I will take your advice under advisement."

It wasn't wise, however, to speak at length on such ideas, while they were surrounded with cameras. He glanced up at one in the corner, eyes lingering on it a moment too long, hoping Tim would take the message before he looked back at him.

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He doesn't need to look towards the camera to take the hint. Tim knows where every visible camera in the District 7 suite is located, and he has opinions on where any decent security team would place non-visible ones, although he hasn't gone looking for them for confirmation. The cameras were why he didn't say the word spin and didn't suggest lying, and they're also the reason that he doesn't say 'you're welcome' before changing the subject. "So who are you, Mr. Holmes? I understand why there are so many teenaged tributes - we're the traditional age. But why are you here? You're older, and you're not exactly built for a fight."

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"I would think that would be a question for the game makers," Sherlock said, an eyebrow raised. "I'm hardly the only one." He paused, glancing at the ceiling. "I rather doubt ability is among the choosing factors. I'm sure they need cannon fodder, as well."

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Cannon fodder. The term irked him as much as it did when he first used it in the Arena. Yes, the Gamemakers don't mind having weaker stock in the field, because it allowed for more exciting, lop-sided victories. Tim wasn't very hungry anymore - he was thinking of some of the death clips he'd seen, of big, brutal fighters taking out skinny teenagers with ease.

He threw the pear over Sherlock's head, where it hit the wall and fell into the trash can that he couldn't see from this angle, but knew was there. "They need a good mix, you're right. I knew that, and I also know that you're not a cop. I had wondered about the partner thing."