A/N- I'm going on holiday on Saturday, so there won't be another update until Monday 6th August. Sorry! But it'll update every Monday after that until this story has finished- plus, there'll be a new chapter of 'I'll Have That Drink Now' this Friday.

I'm still guessing at around twenty-two chapters total, so please don't go anywhere!

I love you all and feel seriously blessed to have such kind and amazing readers.
J x


"Something beginning with… r."

"Rock."

"Correct."

"You did 'rock' last time!"

"The landscape is not as diverse as we would prefer," Irene said dryly. "Your turn."

"No," Sherlock said bluntly, before Kate could reply. "We are not playing this ludicrous game any longer."

It was early in the morning of day nine in the arena, and they had decided to move. Everybody was still saddened, sombre, but they acknowledged that sitting around doing nothing was a waste of time. They hadn't been able to sleep, and so Sherlock had eventually convinced them to try and track down more numbers. They carried armfuls of supplies and, much to Sherlock's intense dislike, talked as they moved.

"You're not even playing," Greg pointed out.

"I don't understand the purpose."

"Don't they have 'I Spy' back in Eight?" John asked, amused.

"They do, but they have a lot of things back in Eight. Very few are good."

"Spoilsport," Irene grumbled. "I would have thought you would enjoy a game based solely on observation."

Sherlock snorted. "Observation. Everybody chooses such painfully obviousthings. Rock. Bush. River."

"Why don't you pick, then?" Kate said.

"Yeah, go on," Greg urged. "I'm pretty sure it's your turn."

About an hour and a half later, it was unanimously agreed that Sherlock was no longer allowed to play I Spy.


"Citizens of Panem," the man on the television announced. "Thank you for your patience. I know this has been different to what you're used to, but hasn't it been fabulous?"

An approving roar answered from every inch of the Capitol.

"I want to apologise for any distress the communication errors may have caused. We don't know why our cameras have been malfunctioning, but rest assured that we're fixing them.

In the meantime, I hope you enjoy the selection of interviews, recaps, flashbacks, predictions, information and competitions we'll be showing. Do, however, note that sponsorship is temporarily frozen.

Well, I better be off. We have a very exciting special guest waiting out back- would you be interested in hearing from Ferris Limber's younger brother?"

The man stopped and grinned, as though he could hear the answering calls and whoops throughout the city.

"We're approaching the end of a very exciting year and I hope that you'll remain as loyal and devoted as you've always been. I am proud to call myself the President of this beautiful place."

And the crowds of the Capitol stamped and cheered and roared, and the frightened eight year old boy waiting out back quivered and tried his hardest not to cry, and the woman escorting him led him onto to the stage, manicured fingernails biting into his shoulder with every step.


"Sherlock?" Greg said. Sherlock looked up from the leaves he had been examining as they walked, and let them flutter from his hand. His eyes grew wide.

"Oh, yes," he said, pushing past everybody else. Kate rolled her eyes at John, who stifled a laugh. They had reached the mouth of the river after several hours walking, and the rocks surrounding it were piled high. One particular one- quite large, near the top- had a huge 'CC' carved into it.

"They didn't do a very good job of hiding that," Greg commented. "How long have we got until two hundred hours?"

"The berry plant yesterday morning was one hundred and sixty," John reeled off.

"So we're at around one seventy-eight?"

"That makes it just under a day till it goes off," Kate said. "Fun stuff."

"Sherlock- Sherlock, get down," John hissed, darting forwards to grab Sherlock's collar as he tried to scramble up the pile of rocks. "We have not come this far for you to break your bloody neck."

"I don't know how you expect me to work anything out if you don't let me investigate it," Sherlock objected angrily. Several stones cascaded nearby, as if to prove John's point. With an air of utter disdain, Sherlock clambered down.

"I take it we're staying here, then?" Irene said, dumping her armful of supplies onto the ground. "I can't see any way that he's going to be torn away from that."

"It's as good a place as any," John agreed. "Near a water source, fair amount of rocks we can use for shelter- how about food?"

"Very good question," Sherlock said, desire to sulk apparently overcome by desire to show off. "Look."

"At what?"

"The droppings," he said, pointing at the small piles by the river.

"So we know there are rabbits nearby?"

"More than that. Look closer."

"I'd rather not, if it's all the same to you." Sherlock sighed impatiently, but continued anyway.

"There are many of them, but they've all dried slightly in the sun- I'd say they're twelve hours old, at least."

"So nothing's been here for a while?"

"Exactly. This area was clearly popular with wildlife, but nothing's visited it in at least twelve hours."

"Twelve hours ago being when we decided to take on the nation," John said grimly.

"Shit," Greg said.

"Guys?" Kate called. They found her sitting sadly by a twitching heap of fur, stroking it gently with the tips of her fingers. They watched as the rabbit stiffened and twitched, jerking desperately. Irene saw Kate try and wipe away a tear without anybody noticing, and silently took her hand.

"It's been drugged," Sherlock said after a minute or so. "The pupils."

"Dilated," Irene agreed.

"It's the same poison they used on Sally," Greg said. "I'm pretty sure it is, at least. But a dose that would kill a human… how could it be the same time scale for something like a rabbit? Would they even be affected in the same way?"

"This poison has to be either a modified variation of a naturally occurring toxin, or completely manmade. They can make it do whatever they want."

"This toxin being introduced- do you think that was a set event?" Irene asked.

"No way of telling," Greg shrugged. "Carving will have faded."

"If it was an event, what did it affect?" John asked. "How did the rabbits get it?"

"Sally got it from the berries," Greg said, but Sherlock shook his head.

"No, no, I've seen those. Huge, orange, hanging off the ground. No way a rabbit could reach them."

"So what is it from?" Kate said uncertainly. She looked at Sherlock, but he didn't seem to have an answer.

"Don't eat anything you find growing or living here," he said instead. "Stick to the supplies we have."

"We'll run out soon," Irene warned. "We've still got a fair amount, but it can't last forever."

"Nothing can," John said. "Better that than risk being poisoned."

"So what now?" Greg asked.

"We explore," Sherlock said, huge smile growing on his face. Laughing, John slid a hand around Sherlock's neck and pulled him forwards, kissing him gently. Kate and Irene shared a look of 'God, not this again'. Greg turned quite pointedly away.

"What was that for?" Sherlock asked, bemused, when they eventually broke apart.

"It's nice to see you happy," John shrugged, unable to avoid smiling.

"You two are repulsive," Irene said.

"Like you and Kate are any better."

"Myself and Katelyn-"

"Okay, no. I object. 'Katelyn' is what Perry calls me to piss me off."

"Really? I must make a mental note to use it more often."

"You sound like my sister when people call her 'Harriet'," John laughed.

"People find names being shortened annoying?" Sherlock interrupted. "Interesting."

"It'll take you a pretty long time to find a good abbreviation of 'Mycroft'."

"I have the time," Sherlock said, a smile playing around his lips.

"Why don't you like your brother?" Kate asked. Sherlock made a dismissive noise.

"Why should I?"

"He's your family," John said.

"And? Just because we shared the same parents doesn't mean we're at all alike."

"I don't know if I'm like Perry or not," Kate commented. "Maybe. I hope so."

"Look at you, getting all sentimental," Irene teased.

"He'll get lynched by his friends for that," Greg added in.

Kate grinned. "Ah, he'll live."

"I certainly hope I'm not like my family," Irene said. The mood dipped a little.

"You're not," Kate said immediately.

"You don't even know them."

"I know enough. You're not evil, Irene."

"You don't know that."

"I-"

"That's enough of that," Sherlock said firmly. "Irene Adler, you are irritating, bothersome, grating, rude, selfish, inconsiderate, dangerous- but you are not evil. And I can assure you, I do know. I know everything."

"… I am not irritating."

"You are a little," Kate said. Irene smacked her lightly.

"Who are you siding with?"

"The pretty one. You can decide for yourselves who that is."


It was a few hours later that Sherlock finally came across the small, innocent looking flower, a beautiful pale pink. He twisted it this way and that underneath his fingers, admiring the delicacy of the carving underneath it.

"Found another?" John asked. The others, noticing, gathered around.

"'CLXXXV'," he read out loud. Kate pulled a face.

"Hardly rolls off the tongue, does it?"

"So that's…"

"One hundred and eighty-five," Kate said triumphantly, a split-second before Sherlock. He scowled.

"I almost had it that time," John sighed. "What time are we on now?"

"One hundred and eighty?" Greg said. "Or maybe one-eighty-one. Either way, it's pretty close."

"I take it you'll be staying here?" John said to Sherlock, who was inches away from the petals.

"Did you ask something?" Sherlock said after a few moments. Irene sniggered.

"We'll keep on looking," she said, slinging an arm around Kate's waist.

"Take me with you," Greg half-begged.

"John?" Irene asked, but John shook his head.

"I'll keep him company."

"I don't think he's even on the same plane as the rest of us right now."

"All the same."

Irene shrugged. "Please yourself. Don't do anything I wouldn't."

"I wouldn't respond to that, if I were you," Kate cut in, and dragged Irene away before conversation could turn to how heinous something would have to be for Irene to reject it. Greg followed, shaking his head.

"I think that me and Kate are mainly here to look after you and Irene," John commented, watching them leave.

"'Kate and I,'" Sherlock corrected off-handedly. He dragged his eyes away to look at John.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Okay," he said after a pause. "Better than Greg."

"If Lestrade wants to pretend that he's alright, I'm not going to be the one to tell him otherwise," Sherlock dismissed. John folded his legs underneath him and began to unwrap the bandage from around his fingers.

"How's your finger?" Sherlock asked, glancing at it.

"Alright," he said, grimacing as he pulled the material free. "It's swollen, that's all." He redid the splint but loosened the fabric a little to stop it cutting into his skin as much. He felt at his cheek, wincing when he touched the bruises. "How bad is my face?"

"No worse than usual."

John glared. Sherlock smirked, returning his attention to the flower, and reached out his hand. John looked at it.

"What are you doing?"

"You are spoiling the moment, John," Sherlock reprimanded, and took John's good hand in his.

"Ahh, okay," John said. "I see." He moved so that he was sat next to Sherlock, leaning slightly against him.

"You realise that we may be here for hours yet?" Sherlock murmured.

"I can think of worse ways to spend an afternoon."

"True," he acknowledged, running a thumb loosely over John's fingers. Personally, between the science and adventure of the thing and the presence of the boy next to him, Sherlock couldn't think of anywhere he'd rather be.


"I am so very bored."

"You've told us. Five times already."

"Well, I am! At least battling to the death was interesting."

"What a lovely notion," Greg muttered.

"Irene, stop whining," Kate said. "We're all bored."

"Sherlock's not."

"Would you like to sit and watch the flower?" John called. "Please sit and watch the flower."

"I'm not making you watch it," Sherlock argued. "You're welcome to go elsewhere."

"No, because I want to stay with you. I am, however, losing circulation in my fingers and I'm pretty sure I've lost the use of both my right l- nope, both, definitely both my legs," John said. "You must be uncomfortable too."

"I hadn't noticed," Sherlock said, perfectly truthfully.

"Come on, I can take a turn," Kate said. "You must need the loo or something if nothing else."

"I'm fine," Sherlock insisted.

"Staring at a cluster of petals for four hours without blinking is not 'fine'," Greg said.

"You can follow or not, but I'm going to go and investigate the area," Irene said.

"For what?"

"More numbers, food sources, anything of interest."

"I told you not to trust the food, and we have numbers." Sherlock said, gesturing at the flower.

"Sherlock," Kate said warningly.

"Hey," John said, kissing him lightly. "C'mon. Time to take a break."

"Go and get something to eat," Greg suggested.

"Why is the entire group suddenly determined to mother me?" Sherlock scowled.

"Because you are our resident five year old," Irene explained patiently.

"When was the last time you ate?" Kate said curiously. Sherlock hesitated.

"That's it, we're definitely taking a break," John declared, getting stiffly to his feet. He looked expectantly at Sherlock.

"What?"

"Don't make me come over there and make you," Greg warned.

"That would be tremendously ambitious of you," Sherlock grumbled, but he got up all the same. "Happy?"

"Ecstatic," Irene said.

"There's some stew left, I think," Kate said, but Sherlock shook his head.

"No, thank you. There's a patch of trees nearby that I want to spend some more time studying."

"Excellent," Irene beamed. "Greg?"

"No, thanks. I'll do flower-watching duty."

"Kate?"

"I think I'd better stay here and keep an eye on Greg. He has this thing about setting fire to flowers."

Greg shot her a sharp look, but burst out laughing. "It would be fun, you have to admit. What do you think, Sherlock?"

"Don't be cruel," Irene said, not bothering to hide a smirk at the sheer horror on Sherlock's face. "We'll take the gun."

"We'll keep the knife," Greg said. Irene nodded.

"Come on then, you two," she said.

"Two?" John said.

"You are coming, aren't you?" Sherlock said, like he hadn't even considered an alternate. John glanced around and saw everybody wearing the same 'isn't-it-obvious?' expression.

"Probably," he admitted. Sherlock turned, grinning, and bounced off into the woods before anybody could say another world. Sighing good-naturedly, John followed. Irene remained long enough to mouth 'goodbye' at Kate, before striding after them with all the air of a mother attempting to control two raucous children.

Kate turned back around, still chuckling to herself. Greg was watching her, his face unreadable.

"What?" she asked, caught off guard.

"Nothing," he said.

"Yeah, because that's why you look like I just kicked your puppy. What's wrong?"

"It's nothing, honestly. It's just, you know… you two. You're happy together. And then there's those two, and they're happy together too."

"I'm not sure Sherlock does happy."

"Probably not in any socially acceptable form, no, but you get what I mean."

"Yeah," she acknowledged, "I do." He nodded, lips in a tight line, and looked away.

"It's not the end, you know," she said. "Losing Molly, I mean."

"Yeah, I know," he said gruffly. "But right now, it kinda feels like it."

She nodded, and left it at that. "So when was the last time you ate?"

"A while ago," he admitted. She folded her arms.

"I might not be able to make Sherlock do anything, I'm pretty sure I could take you in a fight. You need to eat."

"I'm not hungry," he protested.

"That's a lie."

"It's a waste of rations."

"Also a lie. What is it with all of you and your stupid self-denial? Go and eat the bread and quit your bitching."

"You have such a way with words."

"One of my many talents. Go on, I can watch the shitty flower."

"Thanks," he said gratefully, and they switched places. He rummaged around in the heap of supplies, noting with a pang of worry that they really didn't have that much left. He found a hunk of bread as commanded and bit into it, ignoring how stale it was.

A few feet away, Kate was still watching intently when she felt the ground beneath her move, ever so slightly. She leant in closer, captivated, and watched as the beautiful blossom started to twitch and then to slowly unfurl. At the very centre she could see something glinting in the sunlight, something so thin it was hard to see. She frowned and leaned in closer.


Several hundred miles away, a man in a room flicked a switch.


The needle pierced into Kate's neck before she realised what it was; had emptied its contents into her bloodstream before she had time to even cry out. The spike flew out of the flower's heart and embedded itself in her throat in less than a second, and once hollow and useless it fell harmlessly away. It was impossibly quick-acting, nothing found anywhere in nature. Her pupils blew up and then shrunk to a pinpoint before returning to a shaking normal.

And then she was running.

Greg heard the footsteps and spun around just in time to see the knife, flashing in Kate's hand. He raised his arm in front of his neck and the blade tore through his jacket, through his skin. He cried out and scrambled away, but she kept coming towards him. He slammed his body into hers, making sure the knife was pushed aside, and she stumbled backwards. She lunged at him again, frantically, but he twisted away from the blade. Trying to move away, he stumbled on a rock, and her fingers clenched into his shoulders and pulled him to the ground.

He was bigger and heavier and so he tried to pin her down, one knee across her wrist to stop the blade from reaching him. But Kate was strong, much stronger than she'd ever been. She pushed him away like he was nothing and came at him again. He recoiled but not quickly enough, the blade catching his chin but missing his throat.

She rolled so that she was sitting on top of him, knife still gripped tight in her hand, but he took her by surprise by grabbing her tight around the waist. He managed to throw her off but she dragged him with her so that they were lying side by side, her still desperately clawing at him, snarling. She was unsteady, hands trembling too much to use the weapon efficiently, but the zeal she was putting into her strikes more than made up for it.

He felt something underneath him, something large and solid, and he closed his hand around it. Seizing a handful of her hair in his hand, he raised the rock. She caught a glimpse of it and tensed..

And then, for one fragment of a second, her face softened. Her eyes grew wide and some of the haze obscuring them flitted away, leaving nothing but fear. He saw the strands of hair falling between his fingers- blonde, bleached by the sun- and remembered the sensation of Molly crumpled, dead against him, and he knew that he couldn't do it.

He let the hair fall from his grasp and then her knife was plunging into his chest, again and again and again.

They heard the cannon shot and the first thing John did was look at Sherlock and the first thing Sherlock did was look at John, and Irene was halfway back to their base camp by the time the two of them had started running.

"What is it?" John shouted at Sherlock, wondering why the hell they had gone so far, why they had gone at all. "Who?"

"I don't know," Sherlock said, and he seemed more scared by that than anything else.

They ran fast and hard, and they arrived at the same time as Irene. John realised with a wave of horror that the bloodied body was Greg, the girl crouching over it Kate. Her head weaved backwards and forwards slightly like she couldn't quite focus, neck tilted at a not-quite-natural angle.

"Kate?" John called uncertainly. Her head snapped around violently. A wave of solid fear hit John, a physical presence, because he could tell that the person staring at them wasn't Kate anymore. She sprang forwards, bloodied knife gripped in her hands. And then Sherlock raised the gun and fired one shot, straight through her torso, and she collapsed to the ground in a spray of red.

Irene started to move forwards, but Sherlock held out an arm to keep her back. "Don't," he said.

"But it's Kate!"

"No, it's not. Not anymore."

"Irene!" Kate called weakly, attempting to push herself up and failing. "Irene, help me!"

"It's a trap," Sherlock said. "Just another trick."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do, and so do you. Look at her, Irene- look properly. That's not Kate."

"Irene, trust me," the girl begged. "Help me, please!"

Sherlock reached out to grab Irene but she swung her fist and hit him, knocking him aside. She had only gotten two or three steps forward when another set of arms closed around her, pinning her arms to her sides.

"Get off me!" she roared, twisting desperately in John's grasp.

"No," he said. "He's right, Irene."

"He's not!" she spat, still trying to escape. "He's wrong, he's always bloody wrong!"

"You know he's not."

"Stop it! He's not right, he's not! Stop blindly trusting whatever he says!"

"What do you want?" Sherlock said angrily. "Do you want me to prove it?"

"Sherlock, don't-" John said, but Sherlock wasn't listening. He took several steps towards Kate, who immediately switched back into attempting attack.

"Do you believe me now?" he shouted, gesturing at Kate's feeble slashes towards him.

"That's enough, Sherlock," John said. Sherlock kicked disgustedly at Kate's wrist and the knife flew from her hand. She squirmed after it, hand outstretched to feel desperately for the handle.

"Well, do you?" Sherlock demanded.

"I said, that's enough!" Irene turned her head away and John couldn't help but feel the sob wrack her body. "Irene?" he said, trying to catch a look at her face.

"Let go of me," she said softly, with the kind of composure that takes a lifetime to perfect. "Please. I promise I won't go near her."

"Okay," he said warily, and let go. True to word, Irene stayed her distance, resolutely looking away.

"We should step aside," she said. "The hovercraft will be arriving soon."

"There hasn't been a second cannon shot yet," Sherlock said.

"And you think that there won't be?" she snarled. "Tell me what's going to happen instead. Tell me the other possibilities. And if you can't, let's just get away and let them do what they're supposed to do."

"We'll go," John said. He laid his good hand on her arm, but she jerked away violently. He held his hands up apologetically, and she swept ahead of them without looking back at either of the bodies; not the one mutilated and ripped apart, not the one still twitching and whimpering.

"Is there anything we can do?" John whispered to Sherlock.

"Nothing that I know of," he replied. "I'm assuming it's some kind of toxin emitted by the flower. It could be in gas form, so don't go anywhere near it for now. But as for a cure, I can't think of any reason why they'd make it reversible."

"Either way, it's too late now," John said.

Sherlock looked down at the gun in his hand as though he had forgotten he was holding it.

"I suppose it is," he said. "But it worked."

"And that's good enough for you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Don't you care that she's dead?"

"Don't start that again," Sherlock snapped. "I made the correct decision. It was the only decision."

"I know," John said. "I don't dispute that."

"Then what's the problem?"

"That it isn't a problem for you. Greg's dead, Kate's nearly dead, they're both gone!"

"And?"

"Don't you care?"

"Haven't we been through this? What is it you want from me?"

"I don't know! An indication that it's affected you? A sign that killing a human being actually makes you feel something?"

"So you want me to feel guilty for something you'd tell me not to feel guilty about?" Sherlock demanded. "You want me to feel wrong for doing something you admit was right? Because I will tell you right now that if that's being human, then I damn well don't want to be!"

They glared at each other, John too angry for words. The cannon shot finally sounded.

"Your anger is misplaced," Sherlock said. "Deflected."

"Oh, good," he said incredulously. "Are you actually going to stand there and deduce me?"

"I know you're not angry at me, because I know you. You're angry at the Capitol, and at the circumstances, and at yourself. But you aren't angry with me, and you know it."

John didn't want to admit Sherlock was right, but he was. He didn't reply but he did drop his glare, and so Sherlock stepped forwards cautiously.

"Listen to me," he said, lowering his voice. "I'm sorry that Greg is dead. I'm sorry that Kate is dead. I wish I could have stopped it from happening, but I refuse to feel guilty over it, because I did the right thing. I saved Irene's life and my life, and I saved your life. I will never feel guilty as long as I know I have done that."

John was quiet. "I'm sorry," he said eventually.

"Don't bother with that," Sherlock said impatiently. "Guilt and apologies, wastes of time. We need to find Irene."

"I'm not a lost dog," a voice objected, and they turned around to see the woman in question stood watching them, as she always seemed to be.

"Are you alright?" John asked.

"Of course I am," she said, and it was almost convincing. "So what next?"

"We do as you said," Sherlock said. "Get out of the way and let the hovercraft deal with this. We can come back afterwards."

"And then?"

"And then…" Sherlock said, looking desperately for solutions and failing to find any.

"We keep on going," John filled in. "Keep doing what we've been doing."

"Do we have to play I Spy?" she asked weakly. John smiled at her.

"Not if we can avoid it." And then they left and the hovercrafts arrived, and the hovercrafts left and they returned. They didn't speak again, waiting in silence nearby until it was safe to return. John mentally added 'Gregory Lestrade' and 'Kate Long' to his ever-growing list of 'people I couldn't save' and Sherlock, without wanting to, did the same.


On the television, an interview was interrupted with no warning by the clip of Kate tearing Greg's chest open with a knife. It lasted over thirty seconds, showing her stabbing him over and over, blade still tearing at flesh long after the pleading stopped and the cannon sounded.

In their bright colours and elaborate outfits, the audience members shifted uncomfortably as they caught a glimpse of Kate's eyes; eyes flashing with something that they couldn't quite put their finger on, but that scared them all the same.

And then the clip snapped off, and the screen switched back to the interview, and the guest picked up their sentence as though they had never been stopped.