Open, Death

[alldeduction]

Who| Sherlock Open, and Sherlock/Karkat/Cuthbert
What| A chance to chat with Sherlock before he gets himself horribly murdered. Threads already planned will get small set ups below.
Where| candy arena
When| week one
Warnings/Notes| horrible grisly murder and death. sherlock being a prat. the usual.


For Howard and Open:

John's package never came.

Sherlock's mood worsened. He didn't sleep, though he pretended to, and he didn't eat, even after he received food and water from Timaeus. He and Howard set up camp in the mountains and both of them acted like cats - sometimes there, sometimes not, though they checked every so often.

Sherlock had to admit to himself that John was probably dead. If he had made it back to the capitol, there was no way that he wouldn't have sent a package - and the Capitol definitely wasn't holding back packages, or he would never have received one from Timaeus. He was completely furious, though he kept his rage bottled up and blazing behind his eyes. But he'd promised John he'd win. So he would.


For Stephanie:

Night finally fell. Finally. Sherlock had lost track of approximating the time, even knowing that if he had, it would have been impossible. The mind was want to play tricks as it was. By the time night fell, however, he was too restless to sleep, even though the bags were starting to appear under his eyes.

So once he was sure Howard was asleep, he slipped out into the night, to scout.


MURDER: For Karkat and Cuthbert

John was alive. John was alive. The capitol had tried to fool him, tried to break him, but it backfired. Seeing John in the arena relieved him completely, despite how bad the situation was there. It gave Sherlock options.

There was no reason to stay in this hellhole anymore.

Sherlock wanted to laugh, but held it in. There were a few options. One, he could die and end up in the desert. Unfortunate, but at least there he'd be able to make sure John was set up properly, before dying again and getting back to the Capitol. Two, he could die and skip the desert completely, and end up in the Capitol. Then he could immediately start funneling sponsor gifts to John. Three, and the most unfortunate, was that he died and didn't come back. Always a possibility.

So the best way to ensure that was to go out with a bang.

Sherlock made a small package of what remained of his water, food, and fire starting kit, and left it next to Howard. He wasn't too concerned about the boy's welfare - his head wound doing much better - but he made a mental note to ensure him as sponsor gift as well, when he got back to the Capitol. If he got back to the Capitol.

He slipped out again before Howard could wake, and went out searching for his death.

Comments

[alldeduction]

"Oh excellent, a hundred and sixty pounds of child on my chest," Sherlock snapped, though his voice wheezed under the weight on his lungs. His hands, though trapped under his back, squirmed at their bonds. He was not just going to sit still and let them shave him like a sheep.

"And what exactly are you planning on doing with someone who would fight back? Play house instead of hair dresser?"

[alldeduction]

Sherlock doesn't try to keep Howard in the cave, and doesn't explain himself when he leaves, but he keeps coming back. He's not sure exactly why, except that John told him to do it, and if John really was dead--

No. He immediately shut down that train of thought, scowling. No.

He distracted himself by keeping the fire at a steady, even blaze, though he sometimes threw a little sugar in just to watch the flames leap. He looked up when Howard came in, watched as he threw the animals down. Made a slight face, but skewered them with sticks he'd collected earlier and stuck the sticks into the ground, leaning over the flames.

He has absolutely no intention of eating any of it.

"Let me see your head." He asks every time Howard comes back.

[alldeduction]

The screen had come on when he'd walked past it.

He's froze, at first - sudden light in an arena (in his experience) could mean a few things, almost all of which ended in sudden, brutal, and painful death. So he froze dead still when the light began, and only slowly moved when he was sure he was not immediately going to get killed.

He turned until he caught a glimpse of light - coming from a strange, raised pillar with a screen - and walked toward it.

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

Howard comes over and sits by Sherlock's side obediently, almost trustfully. He doesn't like Sherlock and he doesn't delude himself into thinking Sherlock likes him, but John's specter clearly hangs over them both. If Sherlock were going to kill him, he either would have already or would have to make a drastic personality change.

The wound still oozes whenever the makeshift bandage is removed. It reminds Howard of undercooked steak, or of the doki-dokis in front of them, starting to leak juices in the heat. The little drops make sizzling noises in the fire.

"I really...I really didn't mean it. What I said in the Capitol."

[alldeduction]

Sherlock carefully removes the bandage. They don't really have anything to replace it with, but he sniffs it - no petrification, good - and replaces it.

He doesn't reply immediately to the statement. Part of him is still incredibly angry with Howard for saying it in the first place, but he's not superstitious. He doesn't think that Howard saying it had anything to do with what happened to John - except, perhaps, a testament to the Capitol's cruelty. As if proving to Howard they could make dreams come true.

But Sherlock knows where the real blame lies.

"I know." He says finally, if only to get Howard to shut up about it, if only to assuage John (perhaps the Capitol won't let the tributes send gifts? perhaps they want him to think John's dead?).

He secures the bandage back as tightly as he can without hurting Howard.

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

It does hurt, but then again, Howard's used to pain. Even before coming to the Games, he was used to hunger and strain and infections and all sorts of aches and stings. Even before the FAYZ, he was the bully magnet on the playground, getting sent home from the principal's office with broken fingers, a broken nose, black eyes at least once a quarter.

"It's because you run your mouth at people," his mom said.

So he doesn't even wince. "Thanks," he says, although whether it's to Sherlock or to the fire for its warmth is up in the air.

"You're a planner," he says. "So what's your plan?"

[alldeduction]

"My plans are generally made for the solving of crime, not the perpetuating of it," Sherlock said, a little sourly, as he pulls his hands back and turns his attention to the slowly cooking animals.

In truth, all his plans are in ribbons. Everything he had worked so hard for, had sacrificed so much for, personally, was dashed. By a does of poison. The rage flashed in his eyes but he kept them peeled on the fire.

He couldn't mention it even to Howard, let alone the entire Capitol listening in on their every word, so he kept his mouth shut.

"Keep you alive. Keep me alive. Try not to run into any psychopaths with magic or massive weaponry." And burn this place to the ground.

[sleeplessinalternia]

"Stab them," Karkat replies, freeing another hank of hair from Sherlock's head. "Slit their throat. Send one of Bert's throwing stars into their vulnerable parts. You're getting special fucking treatment, fuckwaffle, because you're an arrogant know-it-all sack of freeze-dried shit that humiliated Cuthbert and tried to steal Effie's boyfriend."

He adds the last bit in on a whim, although he's pretty sure it's true after what happened at Wesker's party right before all hell broke loose. And Karkat was okay with Effie, really. She reminded him way too much of a less creepy and sweaty Equius with rumblespheres and a pink wig, but she let him live in her suites with Signless and not on his own with the psycho brigade, when she totally could have kicked him out and called him an inter-district spy.

He's working on a sideways mowhawk thing. Like Tavros' hair, only going from ear to eat instead of front to back.

[tis_allgood]

"Normally I would say 'shoot them'. But around here I might agree with my friend here. A good stabbing does tend to help a man calm down, or at least stop fighting."

He doesn't know Effie but he takes the news badly anyway. Any mark against Sherlock is something to take seriously.

"He did what? Well, any man who would steal another... man away deserves this much and more."

[alldeduction]

"Cuthbert was quite capable of humiliating himself that he barely needed my help," Sherlock said, though his teeth were beginning to grind, his eyes growing dark with each piece of hair falling.

With John being referred to as 'Effie's Boyfriend' as if he was a handbag.

Indeed.

So he decided to say something that John would (let's be honest) probably hate him for once he found out.

"I can't steal anything that's already mine."



He was going to be in so much trouble, later.

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

"That's legit," Howard says, getting back up and stumbling over to his little nest in the corner of the cave. He has a tendency to do that, to makes little nooks filled with soft things when given the chance, like a rodent. He's cut up parts of the sleeping bag and the bag and is using those as bedding.

He lays down on his side and watching the dead animals drip. "Why do you do it? The crime-solving thing?"

[sleeplessinalternia]

"Doesn't matter," said Karkat. "You still needed to be schoolfed." He glances up at Cuthbert. "How does he look? Ugly enough to die?"

[tis_allgood]

"He started out ugly enough to die, Nothing about his hair will change that. But I doubt he will forget this death for as long as he lives."

Bert pulls out the knife again and places it on Sherlock's throat.

"Enjoy your time back in the city."

And with that he slashes the other man's throat, trying to stay out of the spray of blood so he doesn't attract the attention of the dokidokis.

[sleeplessinalternia]

Karkat watches as Cuthbert slits Sherlock's throat. He had good technique. Admirable, even. Cuthbert, Karkat thinks, is very good at killing people. Any troll would be proud to be in cahoots with him.

"Feel less like a braybeast?"

[blondevigilante]

She heard the crunching of feet on the candy ground, but didn't move. The screen in front of her was showing something, someone familiar.

Tim.

Tim, who missed their rendezvous making her so sure he had died at the Cornucopia. Her stomach clenched at the sight of him. She tried to make out his surroundings, but the camera stayed tight on his face. Stephanie wanted to reach out and touch him, to confirm that this wasn't some trick, but her hand stayed by her side knowing that it would be pointless and just a little dangerous to show such attachment right now. Clenching her jaw she turned away from the screen to face the newcomer.

[tis_allgood]

Sometimes the things Cuthbert brags about he really is good at, and this is one of them.

He gets up from the body quickly and gives it some space, between the dokidokis and the potential for the Capitol to remove the body he doesn't want to stay too close for his own safety.

"Aye, that did me more good than I should admit."

[alldeduction]

"Because I'm good at it," Sherlock said darkly. Remembering what he used to do only fuels the rage, and adding John's death to the mix...

It was something he would never be able to return to. Never have a real occupation, never have a partner, just fight in these ridiculous arenas again, and again, and again, until the Capitol thought he was no longer entertaining enough and just killed him, or let him die, for good.

He pulled his knees up to his chest, leaning against them, hands wrapped around and pulled tight until the knuckles went white. "I was the best," he said sourly.

[alldeduction]

The sugared ground crunched under his feet as he stepped up to the pillar, freezing as he caught the outline of the girl standing before it. He couldn't make out who she was, her back cast in darkness, but the screen...

He know who that was.

"Tim." He said, aloud, still several feet away - enough that if she decided he was a threat he could still run, and if she was an ally...

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

"Right, and you like the ego boost from being top dog at something, I guess." He watches Sherlock with a curious expression, sees the tension in his hands, sees Sherlock curl up in a ball like he often does himself. It's a childish gesture, but to Howard a familiar one.

I'm protecting myself and no one can hurt me like this.

He starts cutting up one of those horrible dead Neopet-looking things. Its blood is coagulated already, gooey and unappetizing.

[blondevigilante]

Her head turns and she narrows her eyes as she makes out the stranger. Working so often in the dark has really done amazing things for her night vision, and with the glow of the screen behind her it makes the man easy to spot.

"Tim. Stephanie," she nods her head at him. "Strange Man." Her eyes want to go back to the screen, but turning her back on an unknown Tribute is dangerous at best.

[alldeduction]

"I like being useful," he corrected sharply, though really Howard was right. He did like being the best, but not for the ego boost - even when he was the best his peers rarely recognized him as such, save Lestrade - but for the justification.

Knowing he was right was infinitely more important than other people knowing he was right.

(Though he strove for that as well. Obviously.)

"This--" He waved around the cave, the wall, the slowly flayed creature, "Isn't useful. This is pointless."

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

Howard's opens his mouth to say something and stops. He wants to say useful is what he strives for too, but the truth is he strives for needed. The two are different; one denotes that you can be replaced.

"There's a point in catching killers, you think? In a culture that does this for fun?"

[alldeduction]

"They do it out of fear," Sherlock said darkly. "So of course there is use." He glanced back at Howard.

"They do this out of fear of another rebellion." He flashed his bracelet, glinting in the firelight. "Fear of their own demise. Of course they'd be just as paranoid about murder. And if they were smart they would put my talents to use instead of wasting them on entertainment."

He carefully doesn't answer the real question. Whether or not it is worth catching killers in a place that wants you dead. That is something he would never be able to answer in front of the cameras, though he almost does. Just then, he almost does. Because what does it matter, if he angers them again, if John's already dead?

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

Howard's eyes go from his cuff to Sherlock's, then to Sherlock's eyes. The real question hangs between them. Howard's vindictive enough to have the very same answer, and, fortunately, smart enough not to say so.

He nudges some of the meat over to near the fire. There isn't anything to cook it on, and anything stick-like here is made of chocolate or sugar, so the work will be messy.

"Why don't you petition out?"

[alldeduction]

"I was going to," He snapped, and then stopped, his throat siezing up entirely on it's own. A flash of rage and frustration, completely real, crossed his face, and he immediately turned his eyes from Howard.

It was a new feeling, this utter twist of hopeless rage in his chest.

Sherlock didn't like feelings.

"... Once I got John out. I was going to petition once he was out." He does his best to keep the words coming out ragged but fails, the rage (and the grief, though he cannot admit it, not even to himself) tearing the edges and leaving them bare.