The rain didn't begin to lighten until hours after the death toll (and despite the storm, day six had only claimed the male tribute from Two). It didn't stop altogether until the sun was beginning to rise. Sherlock stuck true to his word for all of that time, alternating between trying to sleep and staring at John with what he hoped was an appropriately conflicted expression.
It paid off. As soon as it was calm enough outside to do so, the parachute landed. John crawled out of the tangle of branches as Sherlock was examining their new supplies. Soup, bread, apples- and all from the Capitol, he noted. Clearly they had fans there.
"Morning," John greeted him.
"Morning," Sherlock answered.
"A parachute arrived, I'm guessing?"
"I did tell you people would sponsor us."
"And you were right." Sherlock stopped what he was doing, taken aback by the bitterness in John's tone. Jealousy, presumably. That I worked it out before he did.
But what if it went deeper? Sherlock examined John out of the corner of his eye. The boy sat still, looking at the food as if in deep thought. What if it turned out John was going to refuse to remain allied? If he was going to say that he didn't want to manipulate people, or that it was too difficult, or too strange?
If John left, it would ruin everything. It was probably too late to find a new ally in the ever-shrinking pool of tributes, and that was without factoring in that Sherlock had hated (and been hated by) nearly everybody else in training. I knew I shouldn't have told him, he thought bitterly.
John suddenly leant forwards, picked up a roll and tore it in two. "Then again," he said cautiously, "you usually are. Right, I mean. " He handed the larger half to Sherlock, who accepted it.
"I should probably trust that you know what you're doing," John continued. "Yeah?"
"Definitely," Sherlock agreed. He held out the hunk of bread towards John, who grinned before leaning forwards to take a bite out of it. Almost instantly, another parachute dropped from the sky. See, John? There's method in our madness.
When Molly Hooper awoke to find herself lying curled up against a boy, her first thought was that her mother was going to have a heart attack.
The second was that that she always looked awful in the mornings, immediately followed by horror over the fact she hadn't had a proper bath in nearly a week now, moving onto fear that things with Greg were going to be really awkward, then panic that he might leave her as a result, and then the sickening reminder that oh, God, this was all being broadcast, wasn't it? Somewhere, buried deep under the avalanche of anxieties, was the quiet acknowledgment she'd be content to never move again.
Through the bush, something caught Molly's eye. She held her breath- yes, definitely a flicker of silver. She hadn't been sent anything in the arena so far, but she knew a parachute when she saw one. She also knew how quickly they could be snatched by other tributes.
Greg's arm was hugged around her protectively, like she was a treasure worth keeping. Molly couldn't see a way to untangle herself without disturbing him. She tried to slip away unnoticed, but ended up accidentally elbowing him in the stomach.
"Are you awake?" he asked, pulling his arm away.
"Sorry!" she said as she sat up properly, flustered. The air felt colder without him by her side.
"Don't worry about it."
"No, I feel awful. I didn't mean to wake you up."
"It's okay, you didn't. I've been up for a while."
There was a beat in which Greg realised that he had just confessed to watching Molly sleep, which she would rate somewhere between 'unwanted' and 'repulsive'.
When he had woken up earlier to find her nestled peacefully against him, he hadn't had the heart to bother her- and, if he was honest, having the chance to just sit still and look at her had been a very hard one to pass up. Still, what mattered was that she was no doubt thinking he was disgusting, and he could hardly blame her. You screwed it up again. Nice.
In that same beat, all that Molly was thinking was that the rain had finally stopped.
"Didn't you see the parachute?" she asked him.
"Parachute?"
"Yeah, there's one right outside."
"Oh," he said. "No, I hadn't noticed." Yeah, because you were paying so much attention to the outside world.
"I'll get it," she offered, and sprung up. Greg tried to make himself look slightly more presentable.
"They sent us food!" Molly said happily, holding up the sealed boxes. He climbed out to join her. "And a flask."
"Anything in it?"
"No, but we can fill it with water and go further away from the river. Well, we could if we wanted to."
"Do you want to?"
"Not really."
"Me neither. We should probably fill it up anyway, though."
"Yeah," she agreed. Molly wrapped up the food and hid it, and together they headed for the nearby stream. They reached it within minutes. Greg filled the bottle while Molly kept a lookout, bow and arrow strapped firmly to her back once again. She had stashed them in a nearby bush the night before, for the first time since she entered the arena. For some reason, she had felt safe enough to sleep without them.
"Um," Greg began, screwing the cap back on the bottle. Molly looked at him questioningly. Greg really did wish that somebody else was around to do this. A girl, preferably.
"Yes?" Molly prompted him when he didn't speak.
"How are you feeling now?" he asked tentatively.
"What do you mean?" she said, confused.
"Well, yesterday, you were kind of- sad-"
Molly's face drained of colour. "I'd forgotten about that."
"I just wanted to check you were okay."
"No, I am! That's really nice of you and I'm fine, honestly- but Greg, I'm so so sorry. That was awful of me. I'm really, really sorry. Everything's fine, honestly- I'm great, it's all great. I was being silly- I think it was the rain or something, plus I was really tired. Maybe I went mad, it doesn't matter. Please forget I ever said anything. I'm so sorry."
"What are you even apologising for?" Greg asked when she finally paused for breath.
"For being so rude!"
"What?"
"For whining and being silly and making you feel awful."
"You didn't make me feel awful!"
"That's sweet, but it wasn't fair on you. At all."
"Molly-"
"Can we stop talking about it please?" Molly asked. "Sorry, that's rude again, but… sorry."
"Okay, sure," he said. "But stop apologising."
"Sorry. Wait- that wasn't- I didn't- shh!" Molly glared as Greg started to laugh.
"Arse," she muttered. In retaliation, he squirted her with the water bottle.
"So that's how it is?" she said, and moved forwards to kick some of the river water over him. They carried on squabbling until, suddenly, he emptied the whole bottle over her. Molly shrieked and shoved him hard in the chest. He toppled from his crouching position and landed hard on the grass.
For a split second, she was terrified that she had hurt him, but then he burst into outraged laughter and she relaxed. The thought arrived in her mind unbidden: I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you. She pushed it away, and focused her attention back on Greg, who was crossing his arms and pouting. It was hard to stay serious faced with something like that.
"That was a bit embarrassing for you, wasn't it?" she giggled, sitting down next to him.
"Do not start a war you can't win, Molly Hooper," he warned her.
"You say that, but I'm not the one who's blushing."
"I'm not blushing," he said immediately.
"You kind of are. Ashamed that a girl can knock you over?"
"No- the thing is- I'm not-" Greg stammered out. It's more because you touched me for 0.005 seconds, and my brain can't handle that.
"You'd better give up before you die of stuttering."
"You are an evil, evil girl."
"Would you look at that?" she said. "I think I just won."
"Molly?"
"Yes?"
"Leggy."
"I hate you."
"I didn't realise we were so close to others," Kate commented. "That could have been dangerous." Less than ten minutes away from their cave, they were sat by tangled brambles that clearly held somebody inside.
"Lucky us, then- we found them before they found us."
"How do you want to play this?"
"I'll distract, you grab."
"You distracted last time."
"I'm very good at distracting."
"Yes, all right. Hold on, they're coming out." They waited expectantly as the tribute emerged. Irene let out a gasp.
"What?" Kate asked, concerned.
"It's him."
"Who's him?"
"Sherlock Holmes. District Eight."
"Is that going to a problem?"
"Problem? No. Challenge, yes."
"I'm sure you can handle it."
"Without a doubt. It's going to take a little more effort than usual, that's all. He's the one that got an eleven in training."
"Really? How?"
"I'm not sure- he certainly ran like a lamb when I pointed a knife at him. There must be something, though, so keep your distance until we've worked it out. Do you have the bag?"
"No, I thought I'd carry everything with my teeth." Kate held up the empty sack. "See you back at the cave in twenty minutes?"
"Ten."
"You said he was difficult."
"You're right. Twelve."
"Twelve it is. Take care, and try not to die."
"I'll do my best."
Irene switched into her best femme fatale mode (which Kate had to admit really was rather good), and Kate disappeared into the bushes to wait until the coast was clear.
Sherlock was sat on the grass examining something- a small bottle, Irene saw, as she crept up behind him. She was still a good ten feet away from Sherlock when he spoke without turning around.
"I wish people would stop insulting my intelligence by trying to sneak up on me," he announced, smoothly pocketing whatever the canister was. "I would have expected better from you, Miss Adler."
"Very impressive. Can I ask how you knew?"
"You can."
"How amusing. Go on, do tell."
"It was simple, really. There are eight people left in the Games; the first is myself. Your footsteps were light enough to suggest secrecy or a desire to remain unseen, at least for a short while. That means you can't be John, so that leaves six. The steps were far too light to be the boy from Five, and too heavy to be the younger girl from Twelve, or the slighter girl from Seven."
"I find that offensive."
"So that leaves the woman from One and the male tributes from Six and Seven. The attempts of men to conceal themselves are usually flawed due to their larger size and overall less agile nature. They also usually have brute force on their side, and as such tend not to attempt stealth at all. A sexist generalisation, perhaps, but one that's rarely wrong."
"Well done. Would you like a prize?"
"A simple explanation of what you want will suffice."
"You."
"Vulgarity doesn't suit you."
"I can assure you it does, but enough sweet talk. Have you noticed the numbers around the arena?"
That got his attention. "I'm listening."
"I'm guessing that most people will have missed them, or paid them little attention- but not us. We're too good for that. I've worked them out already. I take it you have too?"
"You can't have."
"That's a no, then."
"Tell me," he demanded, standing up and turning to face her.
"You're even more handsome than I remembered."
"Tell me," he repeated.
"I can do one better than that- I can show you. There's a climbing plant about five minutes from here which makes it all very clear."
"A plant?"
"Well, technically the carvings are on the ground by the plant, but I hope you'll forgive that little inaccuracy."
Irene was convinced he was about to agree, but then he began to chuckle softly. Damn.
"You're clever, I'll give you that- but not clever enough. Certainly not enough to outwit me. I liked the inclusion of the numbers, though, nice touch."
"Thank you," she said. "I'll let you know when I work them out for real."
"I imagine that all life on Earth will be extinct by then, but I appreciate the thought. Whatever you want me away from here for isn't going to happen. I'm not going anywhere."
"I was afraid you might say that," she said sadly, and then her knife was slicing across the space where his neck should have been. He had ducked just in time.
"And I had hoped you thought me better than that," he replied, and then chopped hard at her wrist. Irene winced, but hung onto the blade. She moved to knee him in the stomach, but he grabbed her leg and pulled hard, throwing off her balance. She twisted to fall towards him and grabbed him so that they hit the ground together. He hit his head when he fell, and she used his temporary surprise to pin him to the ground. Straddling him, she pressed the knife to his neck.
"Why does this keep happening?" he complained.
"I do like you, Mr Holmes," Irene said fondly.
"Sherlock, please."
"Thank you. As I was saying, I like you. So if you give up and come quietly, then I won't have to hurt you at all. I'd like that. It really would be a shame to leave a mark on skin this perfect."
"How kind of you."
"But if you're going to keep playing up, things have to get a little nastier," she said apologetically, drawing the blade very lightly across his throat.
"Oh, put the knife away," he scoffed. "It's distinctly undignified to hold a lump of metal to somebody's neck."
"I do everything with dignity, thank you."
"Including having men pay you for sex?" Irene visibly flinched at that, but recovered quickly.
"I rather wish you'd kept that particular deduction to yourself," she said mildly.
"You can wish all you'd like, but I don't do staying quiet."
"So that's what you did in your private session? Told the Gamemakers all their dirty little secrets?"
"Yes, but some things really aren't that hard to work out; your business falls into that category. It's been what, five months?"
"Four and a half, but I'll give you the two weeks. I waited until I turned eighteen- I do have limits, you know." She paused. "And it's not sex, you sheltered little thing."
"Not as the primary occupation."
"Not at all."
"On occasion."
"Would you like now to be one of those occasions?" she asked, leaning forwards.
"I thought you were threatening to hurt me."
"Exactly," she purred. He snorted.
"You know, I almost find it funny. In the poorer districts, if you want to be flogged, you just steal something."
"You're nowhere near as sexy when you're being an idiot."
"Then it's a good thing that I'm never an idiot."
"Don't shoot her," a low voice ordered into John's ear. He jumped. He had returned from the river and found himself strangely frozen in place. He hadn't even noticed the girl's approach. John tightened his grip on the gun, cursing himself.
"What the hell is going on?" he spat. As far as he could see, a woman was pinning Sherlock down and holding a knife to his throat- and they were flirting. What?
"I'd tell you, but I have a feeling you wouldn't like it. Please, don't shoot."
"Give me one reason not to."
"All right, let me put it another way: if you shoot her, your cannon shot will sound before hers does."
Kate's strong voice carried out to the clearing, and Irene looked up.
"I said twelve, didn't I? That can't have been more than four," she protested. "Who's the boy?"
"That's just John," Sherlock answered, seemingly unperturbed.
"You found an ally?"
"By the look of things, so did you. I imagine that your friend is here to steal our supplies?"
"Something along those lines, yes."
"Surely just killing us would be much quicker."
"Don't be boring, Sherlock," Irene scolded. "There are things more worthwhile than efficiency." Kate and John's arrival had distracted her, so when Sherlock twisted her wrist she dropped the blade with a cry. Within moments, he had flipped her and reversed their positions. Kate went to move forwards, but John had a firm hand on her shoulder.
"Don't," he said, voice low. Kate looked at the gun in his hand and remained where she was.
"I could kill you," Sherlock told Irene, matter-of-factly, as he held her to the ground.
"Indeed you could."
"Nobody would stop me."
"I don't think Kate would be particularly impressed."
"She could avenge you, maybe- but not stop me. For one, I still have the knife."
"Keep it. We've got five more."
"On you?"
"… no."
"Then what does it matter?"
"Very well. Go on, then," she said, shutting her eyes and tilting her head back. "I hope you enjoy it. You're a very nice last sight for a girl."
Sherlock considered this, before getting to his feet. Irene looked up at him from the ground.
"Performance issues?"
"You get twenty seconds. And I'm keeping the knife."
"Until next time, Mr Holmes," Irene breathed. And then she was running with a speed Sherlock hadn't known she possessed, Kate following. Both women were gone within fifteen of the twenty seconds offered.
"Well, that was interesting," Sherlock commented, turning the knife over in his hands as John walked over. "Don't you think?"
"It was… what?" John said, shaking his head. "No, really, what?"
"Confused?" Sherlock asked.
"Well, yes. Was she trying to kill you or sleep with you?"
"I got the impression that, for her, the two are not mutually exclusive."
"Right. Okay."
It struck Sherlock that the unplanned display with Irene had probably not gained them any sponsors. Damn. Never mind, everything was fixable. The audience's short attention span should aid things, as long as he took them back to their regularly scheduled programming quickly enough.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Me? Yes, fine. I'm going to go back into the woods for a while, I think. Keep on searching for bottles and numbers and… things."
"Sounds like a good idea. I'll come too."
"No, you should stay here and guard the supplies."
"They'll be fine."
"Just to make sure."
"I don't want you to go alone."
"And I don't want you to come with me." Sherlock stepped back and looked at John, but John wouldn't look at him. The jealousy angle? Interesting.
"Have I upset you?" Sherlock frowned.
"No. I just want to be alone for a little while."
"You're awful at lying, you know. Come on- what's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"John."
"Sherlock.
"Look- don't go," he said gently, moving closer. "Please?" He laid a hand against John's arm and ran his thumb lightly over the skin, eyes flickering from his fingers back up to John's face. John hesitated for a moment, looking torn, before tearing his arm away.
"You're unbelievable," he said in disgust.
Sherlock drew back like he'd been stung. They stood in silence for a few seconds before John left, without another word. Sherlock stood and watched him go; hurt and confusion clear on his face. Neither of them were sure quite where the acting began and ended.
"You're sure our things will be fine?" Molly checked.
"You've got your bow and arrows, and I've got flask. All that's left is the food our sponsors sent, and we hid that."
"Yeah, we did," Molly said, but she sounded unconvinced. She looked over at the river and bit her lip anxiously.
"We can go back if you want," Greg offered.
"No, it's fine," she said. "But, um-"
"Don't worry, I won't look."
"I know that. I was actually going to ask if you could take this." Molly pulled the bow off of her back and held it out to Greg. He stared at her.
"You're giving me your bow?"
"Well, it would be pretty difficult to take a bath with it on."
"But you don't give people your bow."
"I don't give people my arrows either, but here." She held them out and he took them and the box gingerly.
"What if I break them?"
"You're not going to break them. I trust you."
"Go on, pile on the pressure."
"Sorry," she apologised.
"I'm kidding, Moll. It'll be fine, I'm sure."
"Do you know how to fire arrows?"
"Kind of. I'm better with a gun."
"If I could conjure you one of those, then I would. Until then, just point and fire."
"Thank you for that master tutorial."
"Arse."
He grinned. "Go on, hurry up. It'll be fine." He turned around and kept his eyes fixed firmly on the distance, looking for any potential threats.
"It's hotter today," he commented.
"And it's weird talking to you while I'm undressing," she said, and he heard her step into the water.
"I need a way of checking you're okay, and I'm not exactly going to look at you naked."
"I'm not naked!"
"In your… underclothes, then."
"Underclothes? Really?"
"Oh, hurry up and wash your hair."
"Yes, sir," she laughed. A few minutes later, she said "It's freezing, by the way."
"That's okay. It'll only take me about two minutes to get clean."
"And how long do you think it will take me?"
"Hours. Days. You're a girl, Moll."
"Really? What gave it away?"
"The nagging, mostly. Ow!" he said, as she threw a small pebble at him. "Attack! That was an attack! You're lucky I didn't shoot you."
"Like you'd know how."
"See, now why is it okay when you say things like that?"
"I'm done," she ignored him, pulling her uniform back on. "How many hours was that?"
"I don't know. You took so long that I lost all track of time."
"You can turn around now."
"Are you going to throw something at me?"
"Probably."
"Then thanks, but no thanks."
"Don't b- hey, what's that?"
"Do you really think I'm that gullible?"
"No, I'm serious! Check this out."
Greg turned around warily, but Molly was genuinely examining something by the river. He crouched down beside her to look, and she moved her hand so he could see. He rested the bow and arrows on the ground.
"'CXL'?" he asked. "What's that?"
"It's a number."
"One of those Capitol numeral things?"
"That's what Irene- the girl I was with- said, yeah. We saw some of them around the arena."
"What do they mean?"
"I don't know. Irene never said, and I was too worried about other things to pay them much attention. But I haven't seen any for ages, now I think about it."
"This is when I really wish I'd paid more attention in school," Greg said, cautiously probing the mark with a twig. "I only know the numerals up to fifty."
"I was always rubbish at anything with numbers. Can you work any of it out?"
"I'm pretty sure 'XL' is forty, but I can't remember what the 'C' means."
"Fifty?"
"No, that's 'L'."
"One hundred?"
"It could be, yeah. So one hundred and forty?"
"One hundred and forty," she repeated. She paused. "And what does that mean?"
"… I don't know. How did it even get there?"
"It looks like somebody carved it," she said thoughtfully, brushing her fingers over the number. She jolted backwards suddenly, snatching her hand away.
"What's wrong?"
"It moved," Molly gulped.
"What do you mean? What moved?"
"The ground, it- it pulsed or something. Only slightly, but it definitely did. Look!" she said, pointing at the mark. The edges were becoming less defined and the indents pushing up to meet the surface, eroding in reverse. It was like nothing Molly had ever seen.
"That's not the weirdest thing," Greg said, moving closer to the river. Beneath the crystal surface, small slits were opening up in the bank. The dirt parted to form multiple openings, and Greg watched as a flurry of silver began to pump through the vents.
The pores began to close after a few seconds, and shut completely as the last trace of the engraving disappeared. The slips of silver remained, shimmering in the water.
"What are they?" Molly asked, looking over his shoulder.
"They're fish," he said in disbelief.
"What?"
"They're fish," he repeated. Sure enough, a small shoal of fish was swimming up and down the stretch of water that had, moments before, been empty. "What the hell?"
"It can't have been me touching it," Molly said. "I had my hand on it for ages before anything happened."
"So it was random?"
"The Gamemakers must have done it- but why now?"
"Oh," he breathed, as an idea slowly uncurled in his brain. "What if…"
"What?"
"How long have we been in here for?"
"This is the seventh day, I think- so six days."
"What's six times twenty-four?"
"I told you, I'm useless at math- wait, you think it's to do with time?"
"I think it could be. Hold on a second." He thought hard, counting out multiples on his fingers to double check. "Six days is one hundred and forty-four hours. What time did we get put into the arena at?"
"I don't know- maybe three-ish?"
"And what time do you think it is now?"
"Earlier than that. A bit before midday."
"So that's six days minus a few hours. One hundred and forty four minus 'a few hours'… "
"One hundred and forty," she finished for him. "So the marks are a… schedule?"
"Yeah! So one hundred and forty hours in, this part of the river gets fish," he grinned, but then something sour hit him.
"Do you think they can… that the Gamemakers are doing bad things as well as good things?" he asked.
"What do you mean?"
"There were berry bushes when we first got here, and they were full. But then overnight they all died, all at once. I thought that I was just remembering things wrong, but what if it was planned? Like this?"
"And the berries changing," she said. "The ones that went from red to orange?"
"That must have been the same thing. There's no way that can happen naturally."
"Did you see any numbers?" she asked.
"I wasn't looking for them," he admitted. "And they'll all be gone now."
"Of course, yeah. So that's why there are less of them now! They vanish when the thing happens, so the ones from the first few days are gone."
"So if you see a number-"
"- you know that something's going to happen there, that many hours in-"
"- but not if it's good or bad."
"And we know we're one hundred and forty hours right now, so we can keep a track of time…"
"… which means we can know when things are going to happen."
"You worked it out!" she exclaimed.
"Hey, come on! We worked it out."
For a second, he thought she was going to disagree. Instead, she started to beam.
"Yeah," she said. "Yeah, I guess we did."
