Hello! I'm back with another chapter, hope you like!

Sherlock raced out of the camp once he caught Lestrade's trail, and Molly rushed out after him. John did a quick sweep of the campsite, just in case Lestrade had left anything useful, before following the pair from district nine.

As they walked, Sherlock adapted an almost bored composition as he traipsed through the woods, and John marveled at his ability to completely mask any trace of emotion that might give him away. Molly fiddled with a few of the other items Sherlock had thrust upon her, and she was currently messing around with what looked like a small rubber ball.

John walked to the rear of the other two, his bow poised at the ready. He'd been nervous by the lack of player interaction so far, but it was quickly pointed out by Sherlock that they had been deep in the woods, and that the majority of tributes were likely by the lake, which was where they were heading now.

John ached to talk to Sherlock; he wanted to ask him about his technologically advanced gadgets that Molly snuck in, ask how he knew so much about the arena and the people outside it, and even ask what the deal was with Moriarty. Well, he was a little hesitant to know the answer to that question, since he might find out something he didn't want to, and that thought made his heart tweak.

So, instead, he spoke quietly, knowing Sherlock would hear him, "what exactly did you do in District Nine?"

Molly opened her mouth excitedly to answer, but Sherlock silenced her with a look, and turned to John. "Take a guess."

"I'd say private detective, since you deduce and can follow basically anyone. You knew everything about me the moment you saw me, but..." John trailed off.

"But what?" Sherlock's gaze was steely and scrutinizing. John longed to be right so maybe some proudness could flash up in those cloudy orbs.

"Panem doesn't have private detectives." John shrugged.

Sherlock's mouth twitched upwards slightly before returning to its mask of nonchalance. "Officially, I am a scientist, along with Molly, and we work to solve the problems of the country. Sickness, technological failure, chemicals; we operate silently, the Capitol doesn't wish anyone to know about our existence; it might cause an unwanted shift of loyalty: from Panem to us. We operate in a large building that's mostly underground, the entrance disguised as a small toll shed in a nondescript wheat field. Board of Anonymous Regulators of Technology and Science. Barts for short. I was inducted as soon as the Capitol noticed my intelligence."

John was awestruck. He'd heard rumors of the mysteries of District Nine, but this was incredible.

"Unofficially," Sherlock continued, "I am the only consulting detective in the world. When the Capitol is out of their depth, they consult me. I've solved murders, petty crimes, elaborate heists, espionage."

John frowned slightly. "So, why are you here? Surely you're too important for the Capitol to throw you into these Games."

Sherlock laughed. "I told you, John, I volunteered. They couldn't do anything about it without revealing our existence to all of Panem. All of my recent cases have brought me just out of reach of one man, but he taunts me, wants me to come out to play. A few days before the reaping, I received a call that could only be from him, stating that he would be in the Hunger Games. So, obviously, I needed to also enter the Games." Sherlock shrugged. "I'm almost certain that my adversary is Moriarty, but I need more data. I can't make bricks without clay."

John was dumbfounded. Sherlock was so much more brilliant and amazing than John had even begun to imagine. He was deep and incredible, his brilliance was almost blinding, and John felt lost, wading aimlessly through the sea of light. So he spoke, softly and sadly, before he drowned in the excellence before him. "Why did you bring me?"

Sherlock's eyes were ablaze when John uttered the question, and fury danced through them as his nostrils flared.

"Why?" He asked incredulously. "Clearly you've never met yourself John. I entered the Capitol expecting to see bloodthirsty animals and weak children, all fighting for one thing, to win. I was mostly right. The exception was you. I saw you standing near your chariot at the parade and expected to know everything about you at a glance, like the others-"

"You did," John interrupted. Sherlock glared.

"Superficial. I couldn't see deep into your head. You're like a complex puzzle that I cannot solve, and you never do what I expect from you. Everyone else is so one-dimensional, but you... You are incredible. Your dimensions and complexity go far beyond the limits of possibility, and it's intoxicating. Your very being scrambles my brain, like nothing I've ever known. Never believe you are useless, John, you are a conductor of light." Sherlock's voice was thick as he recited his inner monologue, and at the end of it, he leaned his head close to john's; so close that their noses were brushing. His fiery eyes traced every inch of John's features, and John was beginning to go a bit weak in the knees. "I need you. I don't know why, but I do." Sherlock opened his mouth and whispered softly, his voice drifting quietly through the air like music.

Sherlock leaned forward a let his lips brush lightly over John's, and his eyes fluttered closed. John started to push forward, to actually allow their lips to touch instead of brush, but an alarmed scream cut through the air and they wrenched apart.

"Molly!" John yelled, but he was quickly silenced.

"John, I'm here. That wasn't me." Molly was standing rigidly still, as though she was scared to look around. "The scream was so close..."

"Sally Donovan." Sherlock said, grabbing John and Molly's wrists, pulling them towards the source of the echoing scream.

Molly was right, they were very close. Within minutes they stumbled out of the woods and found a body lying on the edge of the lake.

John rushed down towards the body. It was familiar. John didn't have to look at his face to know the body stretched on the shore. Gregory Lestrade. He grabbed the limp arm and thrust the body over, so Greg was lying on his back. Shakily, he lifted two fingers to the boy's neck and sighed.

"He's alive. Unconscious but alive. Why wouldn't they kill him?" He turned to Sherlock. "That's what the Hunger Games are about, killing people to win. So why is he just unconscious?"

Molly shrugged sadly, but Sherlock was moving anxiously. He flew around the scene, seeing things John couldn't see, his large mind twisting together clues to find the culprit. John couldn't help but admire his speed and efficiency in investigating.

"Right," Sherlock finally spoke, thrusting his hands in his pockets. "Just as I thought. Two girls and a boy came up to where Lestrade and Donovan were fishing with this wire. One of the girls, I believe the one from 10, was pacing, probably speaking as a representative of Moriarty. I can't tell exactly how long she spoke but it was quite a while. Then there's signs of a scuffle, where Lestrade probably got knocked out, probably by that boy from district 8, while the girl from 10 and the other girl, who was from district 4, pulled Sally Donovan away. They didn't kill Lestrade, probably because they gave him information he must relay to me, but they couldn't risk him following them. So far, so obvious. The sun is starting to set, let's build a camp and await Lestrade's awakening."

Sherlock loves his John :). Hope you enjoyed! I love all your reviews 3 keep them coming!