Molly sat straight up in her bed. She was sweating and panting. She had had nightmares before, but nothing so... vivid. It felt so real.
Molly turned onto her stomach, burying her face in her pillow.
Breathe, Molly, She told herself. You are not in the Arena just yet.
She dreamed she was actually in the Games. The Arena looked exactly the same as the year when her sister was in the Games. The Arena was a huge mountain with hundred of caves. Sherlock was there. Mycroft and her sister were also there. They had all teamed up. The Tributes from District 1, the glorious, beautfiul Tributes that Molly did not trust, were also there and they had teamed up with the boy who had killed Molly's sister. It was just the seven of them in the Arena. The girl from District 1 had shot an arrow at Susie, Molly's sister, injuring her leg. Molly took care of her while Sherlock and Mycroft had gone for food. Somehow, the girl from District 1 and the boy from District 7 had found Molly and Susie. The girl attacked Molly and the boy killed Susie. Molly had re-lived the moment all over again, except this time, she was actually there with her. Molly heard the canon and out of anger, she made sure the girl from District 1 was dead.
Another canon went off, signalling the girls death, and confusingly, another canon went off just a few seconds later. Molly's heart jumped and she feared the worst. Just as the boy from District 7 attacked her, he was knocked dead and a canon for him sounded off. Mycroft had embeded an axe in the boys back. Molly stood up and looked around, asking Mycroft where Sherlock was. Mycroft frowned, and something ran down his cheek. Molly started to weep with him, but as soon as they were distracted, Mycroft fell forward, and a canon sounded. Molly was facing the boy from District 1. He was grinning from ear to ear, carrying daggers in each hand. Molly looked down at Mycroft, dead at her feet with two daggers in his back. Molly tried to move, but she could not will her body to listen to her. The boy stepped closer until he was only a few inches away.
"I am going to make sure you suffer," The boy told her. He took out a large knife, slightly bigger and sharper than his daggers, and before she could even think, she was on the ground. She heard someone screaming. It was so loud, it hurt her ears. She realized that she was the one screaming, and when she looked up at the boy, she watched as he slowly cut her into tiny pieces.
"Molly?" Molly yelped and covered her mouth. She sighed in relief when she saw that it was only Sherlock.
"Good morning," She said, trying to sound calm. But she could see in his eyes that she was not fooling him. Of course she wasn't. "How are you?"
"I did not mean to frighten you," He said.
"Oh, no. You didn't, I was just..."
Before Molly could think of an excuse, Sherlock spoke. "Molly, lying does not suit you, especially around me. I advise you to come eat breakfast. We need to be at the Training center in an hour."
Molly stared after Sherlock as he walked out of her room, softly shutting the door.
Mycroft watched as Molly and Sherlock ate their breakfast. He had been studying their actions for the past few days. To Molly, all she could see was Mycroft and Tim chatting away at every meal, but in reality, Mycroft was only pretending to listen to Tim. He was actually studying his younger brother and a good friends sister.
Mycroft saw so much of his dear friend, Susie, inside of Molly. He almost could not speak when he saw Molly on the train. Another Hooper playing in the games.
Sherlock had noticed when Mycroft frowned at Molly, and Mycroft knew that Sherlock knew why.
I hope training does her good, Mycroft thought.
As Molly and Sherlock headed off to training, Mycroft pulled Sherlock aside.
"Help her," Mycroft told him. He wanted to say more, but his voice caught in his throat. That has only happened once before, when he had heard the canon that announced his friends death. He did not have to say more though. Sherlock understood, but that did not stop him from rolling his eyes as he followed Molly once again.
Molly and Sherlock were standing in the Training center, dressed in custom-made, training suits. The boy from District 1 stood right next to Molly, and when she noticed him, he smiled.
There was something different about this smile than the first time he smiled in her direction. This smile seemed almost... nice.
Molly smiled shyly back at him and quickly turned back to listen to their instructor give the rules.
"No fighting. There will be plenty of time for that in the Arena..."
"Hey," The boy said, the same sugar-coated smile on his face. "I'm James. And you are...?"
"Molly," She replied after a moment of hesitation.
"You two listening?" The instructor called, pulling Molly's attention away from the boy. Molly glanced at Sherlock and was surprised to find that he was glaring at the boy named James.
Molly was not doing very well in her training. She was very clumsy and nervous. She had fallen off, broken, messed up, or dropped something. She sat in a corner, not wanting to train anymore. She put her face in her hands, forcing herself not to cry.
"Molly?" Molly assumed it was Sherlock, but the tone did not sound right. Molly looked up.
"James?" She whispered in surprise.
"Are you alright?" He asked. He knelt down next to her and took her hand in his.
"Y-yeah, I'm fine," She mumbled, starting to feel a bit uncomfortable. He was a bit odd. But she liked the odd ones, right?
"I thought you were doing pretty good," James patted her hand softly as he spoke. "You may have butter fingers, but you're smart. I can tell."
There was something hidden under the sweet tone he used. Something that peeked out with the last three words he had said. Something that reminded Molly of a snake. If a snake could talk, it might look like James.
"James," Said a firm but low voice, demanding to be listened to. "Get back to training."
James stood up and faced Sherlock. Molly could not see James's face. James walked away without saying a word.
"Are you alright, Molly?" Sherlock asked, holding out his hand to lift her up.
"I'm okay," She answered honestly.
They stood there for a moment, Molly staring at the ground. Sherlock analizing her.
"Follow me," He said suddenly, walking away. Molly watched him for a moment, confused, before running after him. They went to the weaponry area.
"Here," Sherlock said, handing Molly a long, wooden spear with a metal tip. "Throw this at that target."
Molly looked between the spear in her hands and the target Sherlock told her to aim for.
Molly turned to look at Sherlock. "What if I kill someone?"
"Molly, the dummy is not a real person. You are not going to kill it. It's not alive."
"Well, obviously," She said, sarcastically. "But what if it bounces off the wall, onto the ceiling and right into someones face?"
Sherlock smirked. "Even the person who has the most bad luck out of anyone else couldn't manage that. Just throw the stick."
Molly sighed and turned back towards the target. It was not the first time she had held or thrown a spear or any kind of weapon. District's 1 and 2 had special schools just for training for the Games, which is why the Career Districts have won almost every year in just the first decade of the Games.
She actually remembered the first time she held a weapon. She was only seven years old. She had no idea why she was being trained. Just that it had something to do with playing a game. She remembered very little about the very first year of the Games. She knew the Capitol was mad and just threw some kids together and made them fight to the death. At first she thought "fight to the death" was just a silly term they used, but she found out soon after that it was a literal term.
She remembered standing by her sister. Her sister was four years older than her, but her first time training also. The second year of the Hunger Games was coming up. It would be Susie's first year to enter into the Games. Molly did not expect that her sister would die in the Games four years later.
"Throw. The. Spear." Molly jumped at the sound of Sherlocks impatient voice. She must have drifted off longer than Sherlock could handle.
Molly took the spear in her right hand, holding it behind her. She aimed her shot at the dummy, took a deep breath, and threw it as hard as her hope would allow. She hoped she would hit the target, even if it doesn't embed itself inside the dummy, she hoped it would a least touch it. That would be a start.
Her hope was shrivled when she saw that she had thrown the weapon too hard, causing it to fly right over her target. She sighed in defeat.
"I'm impressed," Sherlock said. Molly turned to him, about to snap a sarcastic remark. He sounded genuine, but she thought he might have a smug look on his face. He did not. He had a surprised expression as he stared past Molly, over to where she had thrown the spear.
Sherlock continued. "Did you ignore my attempt at giving you an easy target, or were you confused?"
"What are you talking about?" Molly asked, walking over to Sherlock. She turned towards the targets when she was standing next him to see what he was seeing.
Molly was speachless when she saw that the spear was embeded inside another dummy behind her target.
"I did that?" Molly asked Sherlock, unsure that it was actually her.
She heard a low rumble come from Sherlock's chest. Did he actually laugh?
"Looks like I deduced correctly," Sherlock said.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, I deduced you would be good with something you can throw."
"How?"
"I've seen your handwriting, quite recently. Its good. Elegant. I've also seen you train. You have a good arm. It was only a matter of time until you figured it out for yourself."
"How was training?" Tim asked when Molly and Sherlock came back to their room.
Molly glared at Sherlock who almost grinned.
"Don't," She told him.
"Don't what?" There was a hint of teasing in his tone, something that Mycroft noted from across the room. His brother rarely teased. His humor seemed to be leaving as he grew up. It was nice to hear it once in a while.
"What happened?" Tim asked suspiciously.
Molly walked past them to her room, embarrassed.
"To put it nicely, she tried to be a master of disguise and failed." Sherlock said loudly enough for Molly to hear as she walked away.
Molly broke into a run towards her room, her cheeks turning red. She sat on her bed, wallowing in, what she would call, despair. But after a few minutes, she laughed. She had tried to paint her face to look like a plant, but instead looked like a monster who had eaten too much salad.
Most of the Tributes had witnessed it, which made the situation worse, but one of the Tribute boys from District 5 tried to comfort her a little. He was a nice boy, with light blonde hair. Sherlock seemed to trust that boy. I guess he did not seem threatening.
Training went on for a few days. Training with the other Tributes, and with just Molly and Sherlock. Molly was getting better at climbing, throwing and fighting. Disguising herself, not so much. She gave up on that. She was hitting targets much better with spears. She could actually hit the targets she aimed for. She decided that would be what she would show to the Gamemakers. She wondered what Sherlock would show. He was good at everything. He learned it all very fast. He knew what he was doing.
She was also worried about the other Tributes and what they could do. She may have been better at throwing a spear, but other Tributes were better at other things. She was not worried about the numbers the Gamemakers would give. That was the last thing she worried about. She was worried about what these other Tributes could do to her out in the Arena.
After dinner, the night before they would show off to the Gamemakers, Molly headed to her room. Just as she was about to open the door, someone grabbed her shoulder and turned her around. It was Sherlock.
"Molly, I need to tell you something. Its imporant. You need to listen." He said quickly. He continued before she could answer. "James came up to me today. He and the woman want us to team up. I was about to refuse him, but he brought up a good point about us being able to keep most of what we need from the Cornucopia, and he will leave John and Lestrade alone."
Molly listened intently, her stomach knotting up at the thought of staying for the Blood Bath instead of running away from it.
"Lestrade?" She asked, confused. She had learned that John was the boy from District 5.
"The boy from District 4," He answered.
"Oh, you mean Greg," She had not learned his last name. Did James threaten John and Greg's lives?
"Greg? Never mind. Anyway, I need to give James our answer by the time we get in line to be interviewed. I don't trust them, but they have no reason to trust us either."
Molly took a deep breath, thinking through the pro's and con's of the situation. Sherlock was right, the District 1 Tributes could not be trusted, but there was also something about them that made Molly want to be near them. They seemed fearless and ruthless. That could be great upper hand for her and Sherlock in the Arena, at least for a while.
"I think we should make them think we trust them, at least for a while. It could help us survive. Well, it could help me survive. You could survive, no problem, no matter what you do." Molly answered. Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed.
"You think I would leave you alone, with them, in the Arena? I'd rather you be alone. That is how much I don't trust them." He paused, watching her reaction. "But I like your thinking. Pretending to trust them can make us look blind to them and allow us to see everything they are planning-"
"You would stay with me?"
Sherlock stopped, perplexed by her question. "What?"
"You won't leave me in the Arena? You'll really stay with me? Won't that be..." Molly paused and then turned away from him, opening her door. "Lets talk about it tomorrow. I'm tired. Goodnight, Sherlock." She closed the door on the still confused Sherlock.
He stood there for a few minutes, running her words over and over in his mind. He gave up eventually, heading to bed. He layed in bed, walking through his mind, thinking of strategies for the Games and focusing on how he would answer Jarem Clark, the Host of the Hunger Games at the interviews in two days.
He also chose what he would show to the Gamemakers the next day. He was ready. He felt ready. He did not mind dying if he had to, and after thinking about it, he realized that if he and Molly survived, he could not kill her. He hoped she would just die by the hands of someone else. When the thought of her being killed came across his mind, he immediatly regreted thinking it. How could he hope such a thing? Just so he would not have the temptation to kill her himself? If he couldn't do it, could Molly?
(AN: So sorry it took me so long! I was going to finish this yesterday and then I ended up stay at my sisters for the night, so it took me longer than I meant it to. Forgive me! I love you! :D Anyway I hope you enjoy this chapter and I will try to update sooner, but it might not happen. Busy, busy! :) Thank you, Paige, for the review! It made my day! :D P.S. I LOVE REVIEWS! [Hint hint])