The Army Doctor's Hunger Games (Chapter 3)

As Sherlock and I walked into the lunch car, we were surprised to see that it was empty. I eyed the table, surprised at the amount of food. There isn't a massive depletion of food in my district, in fact we're quite well fed – nothing more or less than what we need, ending up in all of us being slender and true to our body shape. The food on the table, however, was ridiculous in amount. There was so much. It could feed my family of three for at least 4 weeks, and it wasn't cheap bread and soup either. There were soft rolls and fruit (a rare thing in my district), as well as the traditional herbs from District 6. There's an expanse of herbs and other plants in my district, which is why we're so deeply rooted in medicine. A lot of us live on vegetables and herbs, which is why the biggest shock to me was the plump roast chicken in the middle of the table. I'd only had meat once or twice before, on the rare occasions where test animals died at my father's research lab and we were allowed to eat them.
Looking over at Sherlock, I could tell he was surprised by the chicken as well, his blue eyes wide. Within seconds, though, his eyes returned to normal and he resumed his natural, bored look.
"Want to take a seat?" He asked, ignoring my answer and sitting at the table. I sat next to him, eyeing the food. Just as I was about to add a roll to my plate and realized tea was on the table as well – I love tea – Fliffi walked (or rather, stumbled) into the room.
"H-hey b...boys!" She slurred, her eyes glazed. I shot an alarmed look at Sherlock, wondering whether she had a fever, when I noticed the bottle of whiskey in her slack hand. She staggered towards the table, pulling a seat out across from Sherlock and plopping down, looking over him appreciatively. "A...aren't y-you sexy? I t-told myself I'd s...stay away from the o-ones under sevente-teen, but y-you're gorgeous."
"She's a drunk?" I hissed at Sherlock. He nodded, looking at me.
"Had an affair with a tribute that died in the Games six years ago, she was devastated when he died and took up a drinking habit to deal with it. I thought it was obvious." I could see how uncomfortable he was with Fliffi staring at him.
"An-and you, J-Jacob." Fliffi turned to me, a small grin playing on her bemused face.
"John."
"Yeah, th-that one. You ha-have a bit of a stockier b-build than this one," she gestured at Sherlock, "but th-that means you're all the m-more cuddly, am I right?"
Thankfully, before I could answer, a man walked into the lunch car. I recognized him – Gregory Lestrade, mentor and former winner of the Hunger Games. His dark eyes lit up when he saw Sherlock and I sitting at the table.
"Hello, boys! Has Fliffi been bothering you?" He glanced at Fliffi as he sat down next to her. Before either of us could answer, Fliffi spoke up.
"I w-was ju-just talking to th-them." She winked at us sluggishly, and I was surprised to see Sherlock's gaze turn cold. She was just drunk, what was his issue?
"So she has been bothering you. Piss off, Fliffi, go take a shower." Gregory snapped at her. Grudgingly, Fliffi obliged, leaving the table. As soon as she left (with another wink at Sherlock and I), Gregory turned back to us. "Sorry, about her. She tends to do that." He looked irritated, and I suddenly remembered how he won 12 years ago.
Back then, his hair was dark brown and long, almost touching his eyes but ending in a jagged fringe just before. Gregory's dark, glimmering eyes had a boyish quality, and in interviews he was played off as loyal and kind, a winning personality. Add that with his already good looks and the Capitol women were lining up around the block to be his sponsors. In the Games, he gathered all the bloodbath survivors that weren't Careers, and allied with them, creating a new pack and becoming the leader. As soon as all the allies were in shape, they attacked the Career pack, handily wiping them out while losing about three quarters of their own. When it was down to only four left, all of which in Gregory's pack, they decided Gregory was the one that deserved most to live, and wandered away from their camp while he was sleeping. When Gregory woke up to the sound of three cannons firing, he was devastated, and broke down when he heard he was the winner. He had intended to die for them, letting one of the others win.
Since then, Gregory's dark hair has turned silver and his eyes are weary. I can tell he sincerely wants to help all of his tributes, maybe wants them to live like his allies he couldn't save. It's actually surprising that Gregory hasn't turned to a drug or alcohol, like many of the other mentors do.
"I don't think James and Molly are coming to lunch today, so eat as much as you want. Be careful though, eat too much and your stomach might give out. Rich food, you know. Meat especially." He nodded at us, before digging into some of the chicken. I'd eaten about half of a bowl of some kind of soup before I noticed Sherlock wasn't eating anything.
"Why aren't you eating?"
"I don't eat very often." Sherlock answered, not looking at all surprised or bothered by the question.
"As in, you starve? Or you stop yourself from eating?" I didn't really understand what he was saying. Why wouldn't he eat?
"I can go days or weeks without food. It makes me run slower when I eat." He replied, eyes flicking over to my confused face. I nodded, but I still wasn't clear on what he was talking about. "I like having a clear mind. Eating doesn't help with that. Understand?"
"Oh. It's unhealthy, though, Sherlock, not to eat." The medic part of me kicked in as my eyes narrowed. "I don't care whether or not you have trouble thinking, I wouldn't be too chuffed if you dropped dead of starvation as soon as the Games begin."
"Why does it bother you so much?" Sherlock asked me after a pause. I didn't answer, looking back down at my soup. "If I die earlier, you could win."
I still didn't say anything, and went back to eating. Gregory was looking at us, gears working behind his eyes.
"Do you two know each other? I mean, did you know each other before the reaping?" Gregory asked. Sherlock shook his head. Gregory's eyebrows shot up, and his mouth settled into a grin. I stared at him, confused. Why was he so interested in us?
"I'll, um, go back to my room." I smiled slightly at Gregory before getting up and walking down the cars back to my room. I sat on the bed, running my hands through my hair, noticing it was getting long.  A couple seconds later, I heard a knock on the door, and Sherlock slipped in.
"You shouldn't come into my room without permission, Sherlock." I muttered, not really caring but not really having anything else to say.
"Yes, but I know you don't mind." He smiled at me. "For the Games, do you want to ally?"
My head jerked up, and I could feel my eyes widen in surprise. Why would Sherlock want me as an ally? I didn't know anything he didn't, and I'm not the fastest runner ever. In a situation, I'd slow him down.
"Why?" I asked, my forehead crinkling.
"Well, you're good at fighting and know more about how to apply medicines than I do. I need someone to talk to, as well, and I need someone to remind me to eat." Sherlock snorted, as if I'd just asked the most stupid question in the world.
I nodded, grinning.
"Oh god, yes."