Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters etc.
Sherlock sat in his miniature house in the Seam with his brother Mycroft, huddled around the small television which was blaring. It was the reading of the card for the third Hunger Games and to be honest he was just sick of it. He understood why the Hunger Games was essential to the Capitol but he was getting bored of the story behind it. He couldn't wait until it was over.
"SHERLOCK!" Mycroft yelled. Unlike him, he loved the Capitol and hoped to be involved with it one day. If Sherlock squinted he could see him as Head Gamemaker. He turned his attention to the screen, where the leader of Panem, President Snow, was opening an envelope with the number "100" marked in bold.
"People of Panem, as a reminder to the rebels that people were forced to make tough choices, the tribute that is selected will be forced to pick his or her district partner. It is their choice if they wish it to be male or female." It finally sank in, the person reaped would have to pick another. He smiled, neat. He may of said something aloud because Mycroft was giving him his famous death glare. Sherlock and Mycroft both knew though that as much as Mycroft loved the Capitol, he would never be in the Hunger Games and if he was, he would never pick Sherlock to go in as well. Safe with this knowledge, he climbed into his bed.
The remaining weeks went past in a blur and soon it was the day of the reaping. It was boiling, the floor seemed to be smoking. He walked a tad too slowly into the holding pen and then smiled. He wasn't going to be picked, but he could hope that someone annoying could be. That would be nice.
The very old Effie Trinket stepped out onto the stage with a new colour wig. This year the tributes were gifted with the sight of blaring yellow.
"Happy Hunger Games!" She started in her incredibly high voice, "And may the odds be ever in your favour." Because of the Quell all of the names were in one enormous glass ball. Effie smiled and then reached in. You could hear people taking breaths as if it were their last.
"Sherlock Holmes" she said with a very large smile. Sherlock breathed out loudly, trying very hard not to show any emotion in his face so that his competition wouldn't be able to judge him. He made his way to the stage, his fists clenched. It dawned on him, he would have to choose his partner.
"Now then, who do you choose Sherlock?" How can that woman be so cheerful at her old age? He stared out at the crowd, gulped and then thought.
He managed to stutter "John Watson"