Author's Note: To all my readers from John's Lullaby (my other Johnlock fic), welcome back and thank you for sticking around! To all new readers, also welcome and thank you for taking the time to read this! I hit a snag in my other Johnlock story, so I decided to move on and do something new. I promise I am still writing it, and it will be updated soon!

Anyway, this is obviously going to be about the Hunger Games, and obviously Johnlock, because that's what people do. And let me be clear that Katniss and Peta and the main characters will NOT be in this. Just a warning. Basically, Katniss failed the revolution, or whatever you want to think happened to keep the Hunger Games running. :)

There will be major character deaths and violence and gore, which comes with the territory of the Hunger Games, I suppose. Anway, enjoy my lovely readers!

The cool breeze swirled in the air, sending leaves flying from their branches and playfully blowng all around the clearing. The sun shown brightly with not a cloud in the sky, and John Watson sat peacefully in the middle of it all. This was his place; no one in District Twleve knew that such a field settled in the middle of the forest existed. Most likely because no one was aloud out here, if the electric fences surrounding the district were any indication to go by. Thankfully for him, there were some that were somehow lacking in the electricity department near his home, hidden from view and away from Peacekeepers. He went here more often than he knew he should, but he found himself continuing to come to this place; his little piece of paradise, his home away from home. Here he was aloud to be anyone he wanted to be, think whatever he wished. He could get away from everything, like his drunk of a sister and his emotionally distraught mother. For at least a few hours, he could clear his mind and not worry about how he would find food for the winter(Which incredibly enough this area always seemed to have some wildlife all year round, be it rabbits or if he got lucky, an occasional deer), where he would find his sister passed out this time, whether his mother managed to get out of bed at all, let alone ate or drank.

The breeze picked up again, playing on his skin and rummaging through his short sandy blonde hair. Yes, today was a perfect day. A perfect day for the Reaping. John sighed as he measured the time. The sun was directly overhead, making it around noon. The Reaping would begin at one. He knew back in the district people young and old would be preparing themselves; washing up, doing their hair,wearing their nicest clothes. They would be preparing themselves for the inevitable goodbyes of the two 'lucky' children who were 'honored' to play in the Games.

"What if I didn't go back?" he muttered to himself, basking in the warmth of the sun and cooled by the breeze before he could get too hot. It was possible. He could run away, leave it all behind him. Live in the forest and hunt deer and rabbit, eat berries and drink from the river. He could survive on his own. He was more than capable. The tiniest bit of hope he had quickly diminished, however. He knew doing that would be impossible. He couldn't leave Harry or his mother. Despite everything, how broken they were, how immature and irresponsible, they were still family. And they relied fully on him to keep them alive, for all it was worth.

John reluctantly stood from his spot on the grassy ground, and began to make his way home after managing to catch a rabbit, slicing it cleanly across the neck with the small dagger he kept in his pocket at all times. You could never be too careful out in the wild like he so often was. There were many awful beings out there, probably sent out by the Capital to keep the districts in check. He quickly ducked underneath the fence, and making sure no Peacekeepers were in sight he began to walk through the small little town of District Twelve towards his home. The district that John called home was one of the poorest, and every building was run down, some close to even collapsing. Everyone was starving here, many suffering from malnutrition, causing illness to run rampant. John took to becoming a healer as soon as he was old enough, reading as many books as he could find on the subject and learning all he could from an elderly man who quickly became like his own father that he never had. Not too long after he began as a healer, a girl around his own age named Sarah came along and they worked together and became fast friends.

"Out again, John?" an elderly voice called as he walked down the dirt street. John stopped and turned.

"Hello, Walt." he greeted warmly to the elderly man who he loved as a father.

"Cutting it awful close, aren't you? The Reaping is less than an hour away, you should be with your family and getting ready. The Peacekeepers have been swarming, you are lucky you made it without getting caught." he replied with a knowing grin. Walt was the only person who knew where John tended to dissapear to, and why. Normally John would have become nervous at that, but he knew he could trust the man. He wouldn't tell.

"I had to get lunch." he replied nonchalantly, holding up the rabbit still warm in his hand. Walt laughed at that and ushered John on his way. He knew better than to be late to the Reaping. The Peacekeepers would have an absolute fit, and depending on who caught him, would possibly just end up shooting him on the spot.

John finally made it back to the tiny shack that barely could be called a home, and upon entering he quickly stored the rabbit to cook later and walked over to his room to get ready for the Reaping. He passed Harry's room to find her passed out on her bed, gotten drunk again no doubt. With a roll of his eyes, he went and began to shake her awake. Couldn't she act responsible, for once? She was older than him, for God sakes! At eighteen, Harriet Watson was tall and slender, with the characteristic sandy blonde hair, and a pretty face. But lately she had gotten dark circles under her eyes, become pale, just tired in general, and took to the drink as her only outlet. It all started during the last Hunger Games, when her then girlfriend Clara was Reaped and eventually killed, and she still hadn't quite gotten over it. John was seventeen himself, and quite short for his age.

"Ugh, leave me 'lone." she moaned as John shook her to consciousness. Yepp, she definitely had drunk her fill. She would be battling one nasty hangover for sure.

"You've got to get up, Harry. The Reaping's soon." he urged, taking off the covers and forcing her to sit up. Harry groaned and protested, but otherwise complied and John took to getting himself ready. He quickly filled the tub with lukewarm water; hot water was a luxury that no one in District Twelve could afford. He scrubbed all the dirt off of his skin until he got to the point where he felt like it would fall off. He dressed in his nicest clothes, which consisted of a too thin beige jumper and black trousers. He walked out into the living area, where he saw his mother and Harry standing by the door. His mother looked vacant, distant, as per usual for her, since their father had died in a mining accident some years ago. Harry had thankfully managed to clean up nicely enough, with her best white blouse tucked into her knee-length grey skirt, and her long hair tied behind her head with a ponytail.

"It's time for you to go." His mother announced, voice soft and trembling. "You don't want to be late."

John gripped her hands and squeezed reassuringly, a small smile forced upon his face.

"Don't worry, we haven't got picked yet, and this is Harry's last time. Our names aren't in there too many times. There are plenty of people with far more. Chances are slim any of us will be picked." he tried to soothe her as best as he could, but she just shook her head at him.

"There is always that slim chance." she whispered as she gave both of her children hugs, eyes filled with unshed tears. John didn't know what to say to that, so he gave her one last squeeze and what he hoped was a reassuring smile, and walked out with Harry for the Reaping.

"How many times has your name been put in?" his sister asked once their mother was out of earshot. They both knew anything they said wrong could push their fragile mother off the edge, and they tried hard to keep that from happening. She didn't even know about Harry's drinking problem.

"I think it's about twenty-five this year." he replied with a sigh. He had been forced to take Tesserae when food ran scarce during the winter.

"Oh, John." Harry muttered, taking a great interest in the ground below her.

"It's not that bad. I know many people who have a lot more." John replied quickly. When she said nothing, he stopped her and turned her to look him in the eye. "Listen to me, Harry. We haven't been Reaped once throughout all these years of being old enough. Not once! Twenty five isn't that bad, and you have even less. There are kids who have thirty and fourty names in. There is no way we are going to be picked. Just keep calm and meet me once this whole thing is over, alright?"

Harry just nodded and took her brother's hand as they continued their walk. They didn't let go until they were forced to. During the Reaping, everyone was split into sections by age and gender; boys on the left side and girls on the right. The youngest ones were in front and the oldest ones were in the back. John let the Peacekeeper prick his finger and then went to his section to await the start of the show, and within a few minutes a woman appeared on the stage, and John couldn't help but stare at her. She looked completely ridiculoous with her bright blue wig and green tint to her skin. Her eyes seemed almost cat like, and they shone a spectacular shade of violet.

"Typical Capital wear." a boy named Stamford muttered with disgust, giving John a nod in greeting.

"Not exactly easy on the eyes, is it?" John retorted with a wry grin as Stamford chuckled. Before the man could reply the woman began speaking in a voice that was much too chipper.

"Hello, and welcome to the anual 94th Hunger Games! May the odds be ever in your favor! Now, let me tell you what an honor it is to be here in the great District Twelve..."

John simply rolled his eyes over at Harry, who was watching him and making a similar expression. The lady was lying through her teeth. District Twelve was the most run down, awful excuse for a settlement. He knew that this was probably the last place she wanted to be. The Capital lady droned on and on, and John didn't really pay much attention, even when the video came on discussing the history of the Games and all the other nonsense that came with it. In fact, he didn't pay attention until she began to call the names of the future tributes.

"As always, ladies first!" She announced as stuck her hand in the glass ball filled with glaringly white pieces of paper, all filled with names of people who were holding their breaths, praying for the mercy of not being picked this year. "The female tribute from District Twelve will be...Sarah Sawyer!"

John watched with horror as the Peacekeepers dragged her up to the stage. She seemed dazed, confused, and scared out of her mind. John's heart went out to her, and he took deep breaths to control himself. Sarah was his best friend, and now she was probably going to die. She was no fighter, not by a long shot. She was only fifteen, for God sakes! He watched her as the Captial woman greeted her and welcomed her to the Games. He could see Sarah trembling from as far back as he was.

"That's a shame." Stammford muttered sadly. "She's a nice girl. I'm sorry, mate. I know you two are friends."

John said nothing to this, but he noticed Harry's sympathetic glance his way. He knew she felt bad for him, but he also knew she was really feeling intense relief for herself. She was safe. No more Reapings, no more fear of dying. She was free. Well, as free as she could get anyway.

"And now for the men..." The woman announced, sticking her hand into another bowl of names. John instinctively held his breath. There was no way he could get picked. It was very improbable. His name wasn't in there that many times. He had gone this long without being picked. Her hand rummaged around much longer than necessary, and he kept asserting the thoughts in his head, louder and louder until his mind was almost screaming.

It can't be me! It can't be me! It can't be me!

"The male tribute for District Twelve will be..."

IT CAN'T BE ME! IT CAN'T BE ME!

"John Watson!"

All time seemed to stop. He could hear someone screaming his name in the distance, sounding a thousand miles away. He could feel a pair of hands grab him and push him towards the stage. This couldn't be happening. This was impossible. There was no way.

"Hello John! Why don't you tell us about yourself?" the woman greeted far too kindly. John stared at her, eyes unseeing. This couldn't be happening. Not to him. Nothing ever happened to John Watson.

"My name is John Watson...and..." he tried to speak, but words refused to come. His mouth was dry, his throat felt like it was stuffed with God only knows what. Sensing that this wouldn't end well, the woman quickly moved on, asking the tributes to shake hands. John and Sarah turned to face each other, their eyes saying what words could not, and shook trembling hands.

"Happy Hunger Games!" the Captial woman cheered enthusiastically. There was no respone from the croud except for anguished cries that John instanly pegged as Harry. She was most likely the one who screamed earlier too. He could feel Sarah's shaking hand in his, and realized that they hadn't let go. He looked at her, filled with fear and pain and utter disbelief. She was so young. Granted, he was only a few years older than her, but a part of him vowed to protect her as much as he could. He had to be strong, not only for her sake but for his. Because there was nothing else he could do. He had been Reaped.

John Watson was going into the arena.