My first crossover fanfic! Woohoo! Please be kind enough to read and review, I always love feedback!
Reaping day.
The one thing that, in all of Sherlock's life, he had feared.
He was intelligent. He knew what the odds were of getting picked. But still it made him scared.
The "machine" of District 10 was scared. He admitted it.
He wasn't scared of anything else, so this thing gave him more shock than it probably would to others.
But how would he know? As people told him (especially his brother), he didn't know about people's feelings, or even cared.
That was true, to a point.
But Sherlock was almost positive that what he was feeling was more than what others would feel.
He was in the bathtub, scrubbing down all of the grime that had built up from the past week. He had to look nice at the Reaping, even though he hated washing.
His mother and brother were downstairs eating breakfast, while his father was probably out drinking again in the little building that people called "The Rise". The Rise was a black market, and whenever Sherlock's father had some time off, he would be sitting in the Rise, getting drunk. Sherlock despised him.
Of course, Sherlock didn't care about his father anyway. He didn't need him. He didn't need anybody. Not his father, not his mother, not even his brother; all he needed was his mind and he would be able to do anything.
As Sherlock got out from the tub, dripping wet, searching for a towel to dry himself off, he thought about his chances of getting picked.
It had to be at least 100 to 1. He was only entered about 15 times. Yeah. Only.
Their whole family agreed that each brother would only sign up for enough tesserae for half the family, so neither one of them had a frightening amount of entries.
Sherlock sighed as he tucked in his plain white button-down shirt into his large, hand-me-down black pants that had come from his brother.
Although the Holmes' family lived in the poorer part of District 10, Mycroft, Sherlock's brother, had always seemed to be overweight. People would go up to him sometimes, asking him with wonder about how he was able to hold so much weight and by eating so little food.
Sherlock was a bit jealous of his brother, because people always liked him more, although to Sherlock, they seemed to be almost identical, brain-wise. But, Sherlock speculated, maybe it was because Mycroft had that sort of likeable feel to him. He was always getting what he wanted, just because people liked his character.
But Sherlock never got anything from anyone. People would take one look at him, sneer, and ignore him for the rest of the day. What was it that made him seem so inferior to them?
It was something that he could answer, but he never had the patience or pleasure to do so.
Finally, after looking himself over one more time, trying to flatten down his flamboyant dark curls and failing, he turned and went downstairs to greet his brother and mother, and go to the dreaded Reaping.
If there are any mistakes of any kind, please notify me... anyways, thanks for reading!