[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]

Sherlock's jaw snapped shut abruptly and he immediately looked away. The feeling that ripped through his chest was something completely unknown to him - painful, unknown, and therefore completely terrifying. He had prided himself, once, on being able to separate himself from emotion, from caring for people, for being able to look at situations in a rational and detached manner. But he simply couldn't, here, and that terrified him more than he would ever be able to admit to anyone. His fingers flexed, then balled into a fist, then flexed again.

He looked at the ground.

"... No, you're fine." He said, rejecting John's terrifying emotional reality and pushing his own forward. "You're - You'll be fine, John. I won't let it happen again. I will not fail you, again, and you'll be fine."

[drpsychosomatic]

"Sherlock, listen to me. You didn't. I got myself lost. I didn't see her coming. It wasn't your fault. God knows I'm perfectly capable of getting myself killed without your help."

He shifted, uncomfortably. He hated that there were cameras trained on them everywhere else, that there was nowhere quiet and private and separate.

[alldeduction]

"And I didn't find you." There was a finality to the statement, Sherlock's fingers once again balled into a fist until his knuckles are white. "But it doesn't matter, John, because it won't happen again, so you don't--" He tripped over his words, there, shifting as he made a stern face. "-- So you don't have to be not fine. Alright?"

[drpsychosomatic]

There were a whole host of things he could say to that, most of them unhelpful. He doubted Sherlock much wanted to hear how grateful he was that he hadn't had to die alone, and that was far as he was concerned he had found him.

"Alright," he said, slightly dubiously, fully aware that it was more than likely it would happen again. And again. "Alright."