Hello everyone! I am back for another chapter of Superwholock Games! Again, I would really appreciate it if you would review so I know if you like this story or not. So here it is ladies and gentlemen!

Chapter 2

The piercing sound of the cannon blared through Sherlock's ears. His focus was not directed to the cornucopia, but to his best friend John. Sherlock's eyes jet towards the platform where John stood nervously. John looked towards Sherlock who nodded approvingly towards him. They had created a plan for the Hunger Games years ago, when they first became friends. They had always talked about if they were reaped together and if they had to fight in the area together, they would stick with their master plan and not kill each other.

Sherlock made sure that John wouldn't go towards the cornucopia. John was considered bait to the other district tributes. If Sherlock was in a different district, he would think of John the same. John was a short boy. A very short boy. He always carried an innocent look on his face even though he was very self spoken towards Sherlock.

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Sherlock walked out of his house. He wasn't afraid of the reaping thinking that if he thought about it too much, he would get reaped. John approached Sherlock from behind.

"Sherlock!" John yelled.

Sherlock turned his body around to face John. He was dressed in a light blue shirt. A muddy green colored sweater vest was thrown over the dress shirt. John tugged at it nervously.

"A sweater vest..." Sherlock detected.

"Yes Sherlock." John admitted. "I thought that the shirt looked weird without it."

Sherlock squinted his eyes at John's outfit, observing it carefully.

"Oh please John. Do not wear that outfit in public. I believe everyone goes through enough emotional trauma on reaping day. I don't think your sweater vest will exactly brighten their mood, now will it?"

John looked down at his chest, now questioning his fashion choice.

"But-" John protested.

"Hmm?" Sherlock grinned.

"Well what about that stupid scarf your wearing?!" John pointed at the blue scarf that was wrapped around Sherlock's neck.

"Oh what, you mean this thing?" Sherlock questioned pointing at it. John nodded, tugging at the itchy fabric on his sweater vest again.

"Unlike your monstrosity, mine looks very pleasing and attractive to the eye. Along with that, blue is known to be very calming and peaceful as does the body create calming chemicals when your eyes perceive the color blue. Thus, makes at least some of these quivering people, including you, calm on this fine day."

Sherlock cleared his throat as he adjusted his scarf.

John stared at Sherlock. Then, he took of the sweater vest, leaving it in the dirt.

The boys arrived to the site of the reaping.

John pulled on Sherlock's black overcoat. "Sherlock."

"What?" Sherlock muttered.

"Sherlock listen to me. I know you don't care about the reaping, but-"

"I don't care?" Sherlock interrupted. "Its not that I don't care about this meaningless established event. I do not believe in it. And according to the multitudes of cameras and the arranged area, it is obvious that these Games are in fact, made up. Rigged as you might say."

"Sherlock." John whined.

"Haven't we done this already?" Sherlock remarked.

"No Sherlock listen to me. If you get picked, just don't...ah how do I say it, be yourself."

"Myself? Why?"

"You can be a bit rude sometimes. Just be polite, don't ask to many questions, and definitely do not give them any of your smart ass answers."

"Hm. They might actually like that, you know." Sherlock smiled.

John scoffed. "Yeah right. Lets go."

Sherlock noticed the reaper sitting on the stage, holding a microphone.

"The reaper. The name's Anderson. A middle class citizen." Sherlock observed. "His suit. Two buttons on the shirt and the suit itself are not buttoned. The material appears to be wrinkled even though all the suits that are provided for the reapers from the Capitol are ironed beforehand. This obviously indicates an affair. Most likely a fellow office mate. Anyone who has an office affair and forgets to even button his shirt, is well away from stupidity. His stupidity ranks rather high, in fact. I wouldn't be shocked if his IQ level is lower than you're last girlfriends'."

" ." John groaned.

"What? Im not false, you know."

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Sherlock begins to run in the opposite direction of the new found bloodbath. He didn't recognize any of the bloodbath victims as he was running away, which was mostly a good thing. Sherlock and Johns' plan instructed them to go their separate ways until night comes, then, they would meet at the river, which was not far away from the cornucopia. During their time away from each other, they would look for food and weapons.

Sherlock hoped that John would be safe. Leaving him alone in the area might have not been the best idea in Sherlock's eyes, but John insisted on it.

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"Welcome District 8! The Hunger Games are here. Be prepared, for what this game will bring you, is extraordinary and new." Anderson began.

"Yes. He knows just as much as the next idiotic reaper out there." Sherlock smirked.

John groaned at Sherlocks comment. "Shush."

"So, we've got a busy schedule." Anderson continued.

"I bet." Sherlock whispered.

"And so that means, its time to pick two of you young fellows, to represent District 8 in the 183rd Hunger Games."

Sherlock was not prepared for the words that came out of Anderson's mouth. The name that was written on that slip of paper in fine ink, it wasn't Sherlocks'.

It was John's.

"John Watson. Come up here." Anderson huffed.

Sherlock's mind went dizzy. The next name was a muffle to him until someone next to him, shoved him saying to go up on stage.

"What? Why me?" Sherlock asked.

Anderson's voice boomed through the microphone."Sherlock Holmes. You have been reaped. You are a tribute. Welcome to the Hunger Games."