A/N: I have no reason for not updating this, I am so sorry you guys. Here you go. Enjoy!

Waiting in the little room was worse than standing up on the stage. Waiting to say goodbye to his mother, to his sister. To his life, really. His heart pounded in his throat, and the tears that threatened would not come. He felt as if a million tiny cameras were focused on him and him alone in this tiny little room, recording his every breath, every movement. Listening to every beat of his heart that sounded to him like loud drums pounding in his mind.

The door burst open and Harry was wrapped around him, hugging him tight. "You can do this," she whispered fiercely. "You can win. If you try, really hard, you can win."

He could feel her tears against his shirt, just bleeding through. He pulled her close and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I'll try."

"Please try," she said, not letting go. "Please. Don't ever give up."

"I won't."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

Harry's grip loosened and she stood, reluctantly. Their mother took a step in and embraced her son.

"Good luck, John." she muttered.

"Take care of Harry, okay? Don't let anything happen to her. Don't let her take tesserae. Make sure she eats."

"Of course." she kissed both sides of his head as a peacekeeper entered.

"Time's up. Both of you out."

"Bye, mum." he gripped his mother's hand, pressing a kiss to it. "I love you."

"I-"

The peacekeeper pulled her from the room before she had a chance to say any more. Harry dug in her pocket and pulled out a ring.

"Harry, what are you doing? Go!" John hissed. "You'll get in trouble!"

"Take this. Keep it as your token from your district. Dad told me to give it to you when you turn 18, but..." she choked. She pressed the ring into John's hand. "I love you."

John held the ring tightly. "I love you too. Take care of yourself."

"Hey, I thought I told you to get out!" the peacekeeper yelled. He grabbed Harry's upper arm and dragged her from the room.

"John!" she screeched, finally snapping under the pressure. "JOHN!"

"Be careful with her!" John yelled.

The door slammed.

And he was alone again.

He clenched his jaw, the tears finally streaking silently down his face as he forced himself to open his hand. He studied the ring. It was silver, almost as if his father had found it while mining. It had one word carved gracefully into the side of the ring, in what seemed to be a different language. He couldn't tell what it meant. But he was going to keep it, as long as he lived. Which, he noted, probably wasn't going to be very much longer anyway.

He expected the train ride to be the worst, but it wasn't. Watching the clips of the other tributes being chosen helped calm him down. They were as scared as he was.

In District 1, a girl who looked about 16 with dark skin and curly brown hair was chosen. He name was Sally Donovan. She looked surprised when she was chosen, but when she was up on stage and Effie was questioning her you could see the glint of annoyance in her eyes. Her partner was a tall, 18-year-old whose last name was Anderson. John didn't bother to listen enough for his first name. He had short black hair and looked as if he were beginning to grow his first mustache. He rolled his eyes as Effie spoke.

District 2 was a tall 18-year-old named Irene Adler. She had bright green eyes and a slim figure, with hair tied back into a tight bun. She had been training for this, John could tell. The look in her eyes as she stood on stage said this clearly. At one point, John could have sworn he saw her turn and wink straight into one of the cameras. Her partner was small, he looked about 13, with mousy brown hair. John didn't catch his name, either; he was too busy watching Irene.

Districts 3, 4 and 5 all seemed pretty tough, but they didn't look too bright. Muscular builds, but ditsy brains. District 6, though... District 6 caught John's eye.

The girl was small, about 15. Long brown hair that swept over her dress that reminded John of a lab coat. Her name was Molly Hooper. He guessed she would be the first to go in the bloodbath. But the boy... He was tall, very tall, and slim. Dress pants that looked like jeans, you couldn't get jeans anywhere anymore, and a very, very tight purple shirt (the buttons looked as though they were going to pop off). His curly black hair fell over his bright blueish-green eyes, which were obvious against his pale skin. He obviously didn't get out much. When his name was called, Sherlock Holmes, some mutters ran through the crowd. He didn't look frightened at all, he mostly looked as if this were the most tedious thing you could possibly have to do. A taller boy with short brown hair stumbled forward and volunteered, but was rejected (much like Harry) because he was too old to be reaped. Sherlock didn't seem to care that he was going to his death, however. He seemed pretty confident.

The other tributes didn't catch John's attention, the only others he really paid any more attention to were Sebastian Moran (aged 16, District 9), James Moriarty (who, upon reaching the microphone, said "Call me Jim, please. Pleasure to meet you." and kissed Effie Trinket's hand, making her titter some more. He looked about 17, from District 10), and Greg Lestrade (age 18, District 11.)

After watching the clips, John went back and rewatched the one where Sherlock Holmes was chosen. Why was he so interesting?

After replaying Sherlock's clip about four times, he turned the television off and put his head in his hands.

I am going to die, he thought, miserably.