I'm back! Your reviews are so nice I love them! Keep them coming :)

The night was chilly and eerily quiet as John followed Sherlock through the dense forest, and he gripped his bow and arrow expectantly. He was a natural born hunter, so he was oddly comfortable sneaking through the underbrush. Sherlock's sense of direction was incredible, and he assured John every few minutes that they were going the right way. John would simply nod, they'd decided to talk as little as possible, and kept his bow string taught and ready.

They were hurrying towards Molly's makeshift camp, as John had agreed with Sherlock that anyone who saw the light of her fire would go after her. John just hoped they weren't too late. They'd decided to find her before Lestrade, because the brightness of the fire was worrisome, and John was sure that Lestrade could hold his own for a while longer.

Soon enough they saw a small light ahead of them through the gaps in the trees, and they increased their speed. The light got brighter and closer, and Sherlock froze in his tracks when he heard voices. John almost ran into the back of him, and opened his mouth to protest, but Sherlock held out a hand which served to silence him immediately. They crept closer until they could peek into the small camp without being seen.

Molly Hooper was standing close to her fire, her delicate hands clasped as she muttered something unintelligible. She was cowering slightly, and her previously pristine bronze hair had branches and mud strewn throughout it. Her eyes were clenched shut and she was shaking her head anxiously.

"This'll go a lot smoother if you just tell me what I want to know, Hooper," a boy emerged from the shadows near Molly, and stepped into the ring of light. John recognized him as the tough boy from district seven. What was he playing at? "Tell me everything you know about Sherlock Holmes, or I'll make your death slow and painful. If you cooperate, it'll be quick and relatively painless."

"I don't know anything about him. No one does." Molly's voice was shaking, and Sherlock risked a sidelong glance at John, that told him exactly what he needed to do. John raised the point of his arrow and aimed right at the boy's heart. He sat, poised, and waited for Sherlock's signal.

"I've been told that that's not quite true. Now I'm running out of patience, and so is Mr Moriarty, so tell me what you know, now."

Sherlock held up a finger, signaling John to wait just a little longer. John complied but didn't relax his stance, and kept his weapon at the ready. He didn't trust the boy who was threatening defenseless Molly Hooper.

"Moriarty?" Molly was stalling. "Has he got you in some sort of a gang? You know he's just going to kill you later, right? He'll use you then kill you, just like you're doing to me."

The boy snarled at her, and began to lunge, but before he could attack, john's arrow pierced through his chest.

"It worked just like you said it would, Sherlock," Molly smiled, sliding a small golden ring off her index finger. She twirled it around in her hands a few times before slipping it back on. Sherlock barely grunted in response as he dug through Molly's pack and pulled out an exact replica of Molly's ring. He tossed it to John.

"Wear this," he said and pointed to a matching ring on his own index finger. John thought they looked a bit like wedding bands but he shook away the though anxiously and slipped the ring on his index. "It's a pulse ring. When someone with a matching ring comes near you it'll pulse, so you know someone has your back. Molly was notified when we got here. Now, put out your bloody fire and let's get moving."

The sun was rising as John, Sherlock, and Molly trekked towards Lestrade's hideout. Sherlock was mumbling to himself, spouting out the words "Moriarty" and "consulting" a lot, but he still managed to periodically turn and reassure John that they were on the right track. Molly told John about how Sherlock had approached Molly in her home the night before the reaping, asked her to volunteer and handed her a bag of gadgets and trinkets. He told her he would need her to sneak them into the arena. She laughed as she explained hiding the items in pockets sewn into her shirt, and how she wouldn't let anyone remove it because it would be undignified. Once she'd been allowed to step off the pedestal, she grabbed a backpack and ran. She'd built the fire so Sherlock could find her easily, but the other boy got there first.

John smiled resignedly and whispered quietly, "shouldn't you keep that to yourself? What about the cameras watching us?"

Sherlock stopped and spun on his heel, his ice blue eyes skimming over John's tanned face. He shook his head. "John," his voice was stern, "nobody has been watching us since the first hour."

"Right," Molly quipped, "they've got much bigger problems to deal with right now."

John pondered Sherlock and Molly's words as they searched Lestrade's abandoned camp. Nobody was watching them? But this was the Hunger Games, and it was mandatory viewing for every citizen of Panem. What were the 'bigger problems' that Molly had alluded to? And how were they sure?

After less than five minutes in the abandoned camp, Sherlock had easily worked out where Lestrade had gone. John asked him to explain, and Sherlock looked irritated, but John could feel pleasure at John's attention radiating off of him.

"It's simple, John, in fact I'm surprised even you couldn't pick up on it." Sherlock spoke haughtily but John didn't take offense. "Lestrade spent a lot of time with Anderson and Donovan from district two during training. He definitely returned here after I returned to you last night, as I can tell by the new scuffle marks from his trainers. He had lounges about here for a while, there's lots of berry pits and stems littering the ground, so he was eating. Then something happened which caused him to leave in a hurry, as shown by these long strides leading away from us. He wasn't running from an opponent, there's no footsteps near this camp other than our own. So he was running to something. Now what happened last night? The faces of the dead. Remember the scream that followed Anderson's? The only person close enough to him to react this would be Donovan. Lestrade is a caring fellow, he's gone to comfort Donovan. Obviously."

John happily offered up a few compliments that caused Sherlock to blush madly, but John was sure that if Sherlock could, he'd be purring.

Sorry it's a bit short, I didn't have much time today to write this and post it! But yay we found Molly! No worries though, John and Sherlock are still going to be cute! Please review!