Chapter 17

John Watsons POV (District 9)

I make my way grudgingly down to the canteen, sure it'll be empty. Tributes eat there at lunch, but dinner is for our apartments. Otherwise; anywhere in the building is good to go. Only, of course I know that the careers will be lounging about or maybe even working out in the training room, so that isn't an option. I've already been marked down due to my limp and I don't need their snide comments. The roof is an option, but I know it's usually a popular spot; I want to be alone.

It's a good thing there are lists here. I couldn't make it down the stairs with a limp, especially not down all those floors. The canteen is on the same floor as the training room, so it's about ground level.

Once there, I step out of the lift and hobble my way there, turning on the light as I go. But when I turn on the light to the large, carefully designed, canteen, someone is already there.

Sherlock, the clever one from 3, is sat on the table, legs crossed, eyes closed. I let the door shut behind me.

"Uh… Hello." I say loudly and he looks up, remarkably calm.

"Hello. You're district nine." He remarks and I nod, limping over.

"John. John Watson. Pleased to meet you." I nod curtly, offering him my hand, which he shakes after staring at it for a couple of seconds.

"Sherlock Holmes. And likewise." He murmurs. I watch carefully as his eyes flick down to my leg.

"Do you know you can walk perfectly well without the cane?" He asks me, and I redden.

"What?"

"I'm guessing it's a strategy. Appear weak. Then use that as an advantage in the arena?" He asks me and I shake my head in disbelief.

"How did you know that?" I murmur, wondrously.

"Your stance. It's not hard to tell." He mutters, gesturing casually down me. I blink.

"No one else guessed that."

"I didn't guess. I noticed." He retorts, although he says it mildly.

"I suppose you'll tell everyone now?" I ask him, put out that someone's finally found me out. I don't need the cane. I can walk perfectly fine, and I'd hoped that I could trick the other tributes into underestimating me. Hasn't worked. Sherlock frowns.

"Why would I do that? Knowing about it is to my advantage, why would I give them that too?" He points out, incredulous. I stare at him, wondering why I didn't consider that.

"Fair enough. Mind if I join you?" I ask, all my wishes to be alone forgotten. This boy intrigues me. He must be about a year older, and he's handsome. But it's the intelligence, the sharp tongue, the complexity, that's interesting. He nods, after looking me up and down again.

"Be my guest." He invites, and I sit on the table top opposite him, no longer needing to use the cane.

"Cheers."

"So… What's it like working in the fields?" He asks me, as I sit back. I frown momentarily.

"How did you…" I mumble, trailing off, and he smirks.

"Your token." He points out, and I look down. "The bracelet on your left wrist, it's made of woven grass. Clearly not something you'd get for yourself; look at you, you're trying to be resilient, and tough, and focused, and you aren't going to waste time on something like jewellery. Your hands, secondly, they look like they've seen a lot of work; they're calloused and you have the remains of old blisters. So you're clearly used to field work. But your bracelet is really the key point in this; it's made of grasses, which suggests a typical District 9 job and a connection to the fields. You're tanned, but you haven't been sunbathing, because there's no tan above your wrists. It's hot in district 9, so I'd imagine if it was up to you you'd wear a t-shirt, unless of course what you were wearing was a mandatory capitol issued uniform for the fields, which means long sleeves. Conclusively… You can draw it all together and it's obvious. You work in the fields of District 9."

I stare, wide eyed at Sherlock. He stares right back until a thought occurs to him.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't do that. People don't like-" He begins, but I interrupt.

"That was fantastic." I blurt. He looks startled and I blush.

"Really?"

"Of course. It was… absolutely incredible." I tell him, still staring at him in rapt wonder. Sherlock smiles.

"Thank you. That's not what people usually say." He says, pleased with himself.

"What do people usually say?" I ask, curious. Sherlock laughs.

"All manner of things." He replies mysteriously and I laugh. The sound feels foreign in this room. It feels as though I am painting the walls of the canteen with my laughter, because God knows how uncommon it is before the games. We're about to go to our death; no one finds any humour in that. But it feels good. It feels better to be here.

"So how are you holding up? You know… With the whole we're going to our death situation?" I ask him, voicing my thoughts. He shrugs.

"I don't know. I've looked at the odds, but until I've see the arena, I can't make any educated guesses. I mean… One of us has to win." He murmurs, clearly thinking. I don't think he's the compassionate type, so I don't expect him to ask back. I answer anyway.

"I think we all have a reasonably good chance this year." I muse. He looks up.

"Why's that?" He questions, and I shrug.

"You know… I mean… The outlying districts are usually really scared, right? This year they're not… we're not. The ground is leveller." I explain, not really knowing. But Sherlock nods.

"I know what you mean. The tributes this year are more even." He murmurs, lost in thought.

"Did you do the whole deduction thing on them too?" I ask him and he smiles slightly.

"Most of them, yes."

"Most?"

"I missed the boy from 12 and the girl from 7."

"They're the scariest." I murmur, thinking of Moriarty's black, sinister stare, and Clarisse's strong body.

"No they're not." Sherlock dismisses.

"How do you know?"

"They're using scare tactics. Dull. Mundane. Expected." He says, immediately writing them off, to my complete disbelief. "The scary ones are the ones like you. Maybe even that one from 4… Annabeth, that's her name. The ones that are staying quiet, but you've got stuff to hide." He explains. This gets me wondering what on earth Annabeth has to hide, but I decide not to push it.

"It's a good thing you know all this stuff…" I murmur, thinking about how useful it would be to tell a person's life history from one glance.

"I don't know, I notice." He interjects and I smile.

"Then you are the most observant man I have ever met." I reply and I see the ghost of a smile cross his face.

"Did you have any plans for alliances?" He asks me and I shake my head.

"No." I reply firmly, and then catch his eye. "Unless… You know…" I trail off, leaving him to finish it.

"Unless what?" He asks, clearly not catching on. I sigh.

"Unless you wanna ally with me?" I ask him, and he smirks.

He looks me up and down once more, before laughing softly once, and nodding.

"If you insist, Mr Watson."

Lots of new alliances getting together... What do we think? Good or bad? Once again, suggestions about things to come are appreciated, so you can PM me, or review the story. Reviews are great actually, so get onto that if you want :) Did we like Sherlock's deduction? Was it accurate enough? I feel like it was something he would do... And what's this about scare tactics and things to hide? Mysterious...

Thanks for reading, I love you all,

Lucy XXX