Disclaimer: All original characters and such belong to BBC.

Summary: Sherlock Hunger Games AU. Career tribute Moriarty relishes his chance to enter the arena, knowing his superior mind leaves him very few real threats. But the seemingly ordinary, mousy little girl from District 8 catches his attention - there's something about her that he finds fascinating despite himself, and she just might keep these games from being boring. ~ Sherlock Hunger Games AU. Molliarty.

Chronology: AU in the midst of the Games

Pairings: Molliarty

Rating: T because it's the Hunger Games

Author's Note: Okay, so I'm being ambitious. I haven't written anything but one-shots in a while and I have NO idea where this idea came from but it's been bothering me to be written so here we go. My first attempt at a crossover fic. Hope you enjoy.

Ordinary People

He blinked hard as the platform ascended and suddenly thrust him into the fierce sunlight. The light wasn't accompanied by warmth, however, and as he quickly took stock of his surroundings. Dirt mostly, and large boulders. But in the distance, he could see rusted hulking shapes, maybe old buildings. Potential shelter at any rate. He whipped his head back and forth, his mind buzzing in that bright, burning way he loved as he assessed every inch of the arena he could see, looking for every little thing that would give him an advantage. Of course, his own mind was his most serious advantage, he thought with a smirk. The others would miss half of the things that could keep them alive, or give them some sort of a tactical advantage, and succumb to any number of mistakes. A pity, really - he would likely kill far less of them himself than would be killed by nature and their own stupidity.

As he surveyed the barren rocky landscape and took quick stock of the contents of the cornucopia, he ignored the other tributes. He had done his analysis of them already, starting immediately with the coverage on Reaping Day and then intensifying during training and interviews. He had taken stock of every weakness and every advantage he could press, ranking them automatically in his mind, adjusting their rankings and his strategies as he obtained more information. He had a delightful little web spun in his head now, each thread with a generic title of gender and district and linked to each point of knowledge he possessed on them - connected further with his own skills and abilities and how he could tilt the odds in his favor. Which of them could be made into temporary allies, which ones could be manipulated, which ones could be dispatched of easily. The only real unknown factor had been the arena, and he had that now before him so that was where he focused. The tributes were a known quantity, not worthy of his attention for the moment as he waited for the countdown.

With one exception. Despite himself, he found his eyes sliding across the arena and resting briefly on the small hunched, shivering form of the female tribute from District 8. Even at this distance, he could see her eyes were red. Crying, again. He restrained himself from rolling his eyes. Nearly every time he'd seen her, she had been crying. The career tributes, such as himself, were pleased to finally get their chance to enter the arena. The rest of the tributes had been upset at first but mostly were just too shocked and scared and desperate to do much besides try to find a way to survive, to smile and play for the cameras, desperate for any sponsor they could attract. This girl had been silent as she wept, going through the motions stiffly. And normally he would have ignored her, marked her as an easy target should she get in the way, but otherwise marked her as insignificant. She didn't count.

Except...several times in the training facility, while whooping and hollering with his fellow careers as they slashed another dummy or sprang another nasty trap, he glanced around to see how their actions were affecting the psychological states of the other tributes. Most of them looked properly scared...but not this girl. She'd looked up at him for a fraction of a moment, something blank and strange and nameless in her gaze, before she looked away, staring into space as she ran through the plant identification simulator for the millionth time. It had confused him, and Moriarty was not a boy who was easily confused. Nor did he enjoy being confused. But this girl - when she wasn't crying, there was something strange about her, something that made him take a second glance even after he'd dismissed her as he did most of the non-career tributes.

He shook his head forcefully. It didn't matter. One odd tribute out of twenty-four. He braced himself on the platform, watching the numbers tick down, his strategy already forming. There were several weapons he had his eyes on, as well as a number of electronics that could be useful, especially if kept out of the hands of the District 3 tributes. A few other items appeared to be food or shelter supplies, he'd take a few if he could reach them. But those plans were on hold for the moment as the countdown reached one and a nasty grin cracked across his face and he leapt from the platform towards the cornucopia, scooping up a large rock from the ground as he did so and bashing in the skull of the boy from District 5 as he tried to go for the dagger Moriarty had his sights on. Then there was a female tribute trying to get her hands around his neck and he made quick work of her as well, snatching the dagger from her limp and bloodied hands, rolling out of the way of a gang of three tributes fighting over a backpack of supplies - soon to be two, he could hear one of them gurgling - and coming up just where he'd first spotted the electronics. He snatched a backpack, stabbed someone as they tried to sneak up to him, and stuffed the supplies into the bag, wiping his bloody hands down the front of the coveralls they'd handed out to all the tributes. He took another quick look around, smirking with pleasure at the sight of the carnage - he'd have to recalculate odds and threats once he was certain who all had been eliminated - and then bolted for the rocky hills and the rusty metal structures he had first spotted from the platform. He would figure out the most tactically advantageous shelter, await the cannon fire to reassess the situation, and begin laying out his plans accordingly. So brilliantly simple. These were games indeed. He laughed aloud.

But he stopped laughing suddenly when he became aware of another tribute in the rocky hills with him. He was on alert at first, but quickly relaxed when he saw it was the odd girl from eight. But he stopped running to take a closer look, once again finding himself confused and not liking it at all.

This girl was not running away from the bloodbath. She was standing, staring back at it, a tear slowly tracking its way down her dusty cheek. She wasn't trying to defend herself at all, and she'd taken only a tiny pouch from the cornucopia. She was watching the other tributes die, her eyes wet - was she mourning? She didn't even know them. Moriarty shook his head disdainfully. Stupid, weak little thing...

His mental barrage of her character stopped abruptly when he saw blood down the front of her own coveralls. There were no visible injuries on her. One corner of his mouth quirked up slowly. Well, well. Perhaps she had something useful after all. Why not shake the game up a bit? It would be more fun to win with an unknown variable, with something besides the almost-too-easy map in his head. Impulsively, he darted forward and grabbed her wrist, yanking her along with him as he started to run again.

He was pleased to look back and see the shocked look on her face. She was too stunned to even try to pull her hand away.

"Moriarty," he purred pleasantly. "Hi!"