Righteo so, I was procrastinating from studying a while back (as you do) and I stumbled across some really awesome Hunger Games/Sherlock crossover fiction. Unfortunately though the majority of the fics (on this site at least) are currently unfinished so I hope to change that with this one!
To avoid any confusion I may as well state here that this is a crossover fic of which uses the world of The Hunger Games but not the characters, the story assumes Katniss and Peeta's story never happened and instead will focus on what happens during the 75th Games if the Sherlock cast (as teenagers) were to take part. I am setting it in a Quarter Quell year so as I can mess about with the rules a little bit and makes things more... interesting.
Needless to say there will be some character death in this fic to come as well as possibly graphic descriptions of injuries and all that fun gory stuff *insert evil laugh here.*
Feel free to comment/review and stuff and criticise if you wish but try to leave it constructive and not too mean because fanfic authors have feelings too.
Disclaimer: I own neither The Hunger Games nor Sherlock although if someone wants to give me a Benedict Cumberbatch as a present I won't say no ;)
Sherlock Holmes awoke to the sound of a small child crying down the street. He opened his bright aqua eyes tiredly and pushed himself up by his elbows on the bed and yawned. It was early, a little before 7am. Sherlock sighed and allowed himself to fall back down on his thin pillow and blanket. Sherlock deduced that the day that was in it, that the toddler outside would not be the only person he'd hear cry today. It was Reaping Day after all.
Sherlock quickly realised the chances of him being able to fall back to sleep were remote so he got up and dressed quickly, pulled on his boots and left the house without eating breakfast, basically following the routine he performed every morning.
Although the sun had barely risen in the sky in District 12, the Seam was a hive of activity. Fathers, brothers, mothers and sisters exited their homes in soot-covered overalls and headed towards the mines. Sherlock sidestepped out of the way as a group of boys, only a few years older than himself pushed past him towards the quarry, "freak alert," one of the muttered pushing into Sherlock roughly. Sherlock grimaced but ignored the boy, he was used to the name calling by now. He wasn't particularly liked in the District...
Sherlock kicked the ground bitterly, sending a dust cloud skywards as he took one last pitiful glance at the miners before heading in the opposite direction. Sherlock's brother Mycroft was Deputy Mayor of District 12 and at the age of twenty-three was currently the youngest person of significant power in parliament, not that Mycroft's position helped Sherlock much. Yes Mycroft was earning more than the miners but when one was in a "respectable position" one had to keep up appearances. Most of the money Mycroft earned was spent on himself although he did send a small portion of money Sherlock's way, enough for Sherlock to stay in school and scrounge enough food to live on. The tesserae helped out a lot too. However, Sherlock mostly went hungry. He usually shrugged this off though stating that digestion slowed him down.
Sherlock crawled under the fence of which surrounded an abandoned shack and climbed in through a broken window to the dank one roomed abode. To others it was a run down, termite invested hole but to Sherlock it was his lab and home to his many experiments.
Sherlock had a passion for science and was often carrying out experiments involving mould, small dead creatures and the juices of different berries and fruits that grew in District 12. He was well versed in Biology and Chemistry and had an acute understanding of Physics. Unfortunately three areas of knowledge that wouldn't exactly qualify him as a perfect miner but he held hope that he'd manage to make enough money somehow that he could spend his life working on his experiments rather than down in the mines however his current situation led him to almost safely deduce that a life free from the mines would not be the life he lived.
Sherlock was not particularly well liked in his District, he was different and that was enough for people to pick on him. Apparently there was such a thing as being too clever, however Sherlock didn't believe that. There was no such thing as being too clever, only too stupid of people existed in Sherlock's eyes. Needless to say whenever Sherlock voiced these opinions they didn't go down particularly well... He often made deductions about people but more so only voiced them when people were annoying him and such. Only last week he'd deduced that Philip Anderson a boy in his English class used to wet the bed until the age of fifteen after the boy had tripped him up in the school hall the other day. Needless to say Sherlock still had the black eye to show from that little deduction. Sherlock would not be sorry if Anderson's name was called out at the Reaping this afternoon.
Sherlock moved to check on the decaying wing of an owl and his mind wandered to the Reaping. It was the 75th anniversary of the Games this year meaning that new special rules had been added. This year it was decided that forty-eight Tributes, two boys and two girls from each District would enter the Games and that two children would be crowned winners as the end. Hardly the fairest rules in existence but what could one do?
Sherlock put away his experiments not really in the mood to look at them anymore and sat down on an old dusty chair and leaned across the woodworm infected desk in front of him and sighed. Sherlock detested the Hunger Games but then again if you lived anywhere else besides the Capitol who liked them?
Sherlock waited until nearly the last possible moment before heading to the square and registering, he owed the Capitol nothing and if by turning up slightly late he could inconvenience some of their workers then he'd take pride in that fact. He allowed the peacekeeper to take a blood sample and signed in before trudging over towards the other sixteen year old boys and waiting to find out which poor sods would be chosen this year.
A woman in an alarming pink coat practically skipped up onto the stage, her name was Jennifer Wilson and she was the member of the Capitol who turned up to District 12 every year to call out the names of the teenagers who were almost guaranteed to be dead within a month. Sherlock sighed he hated the woman and her stupid pink coat.
"Hello beautiful people," proclaimed Jennifer in far too jolly of an accent. Sherlock rolled his eyes at the woman's absurdity. It was as if she didn't even understand what she was doing. She was about to call out the names of four children and earmark them for death, hardly a time to be happy...
"We'll get straight to business, yes?" she said in her aggravating tone. The woman walked (in shoes so high she could hardly move) towards a glass bowl with the names of all the eligible girls in District 12. She plopped her manicured hand into the bowl and pulled out a name quickly.
"And the first tribute from District 12 is... Molly Hooper!"
Sherlock flinched, he knew Molly. She was one of the very few people who was actually nice to him in school. She was a timid girl but she was clever, almost as good as he was at biology... almost. Sherlock watched as the small mousy haired girl walked up onto the stage. He turned away and looked down at his feet. She didn't stand a chance.
The curly haired teen was lost in his own world and didn't hear the name of the second girl who was called he finally looked up to see a plump raven haired girl he didn't recognise walk up to the stage crying before taking her place beside Molly. The girl must have only just turned 12, Sherlock was pretty sure he could hear the girl's parents crying in the crowd.
Jennifer Wilson seemed oblivious to the worried faces of the girls and tried to make small talk with them for the sake of the cameras. Sherlock was happy to see neither girl spoke. "Fair play to them," he whispered.
"Okay then," said Jennifer seemingly unaffected by the girls' lack of response. "To the boys!" There was a moment's pause as Jennifer placed her hand into the glass bowl and produced a name. She paused before calling out "Henry Knight!"
Sherlock bit his lip, he knew Henry, they were neighbours in the Seam Henry was only fourteen and even worse off than Sherlock. If you could call Sherlock malnourished that Henry was practically a walking carcass, there was nothing to him at all.
Sherlock watched as the three tributes stood together, Sherlock knew in his heart they were all as good as dead. None of them would survive, nobody from District 12 could survive not when the tributes from some of the other Districts had been training since before they could walk and got three meals a day, people from District 12 didn't stand a chance...
"And the last tribute of District 12 is..." began Jennifer Wilson pulling out a final name.
"And the last child I'll sentence to death is..." said Sherlock in a tone mocking Jennifer's accent.
"Sherlock Holmes!" said the woman in pink loudly.
Obvious first chapter I know but necessary. More character building and adventure to come. 'Til next time... toodles ;)