Instrument of Darkness

by Austin and Ally Go 1 Direction

"And often times to win us to our harm, the instruments of darkness tell us truths, win us with honest trifles, to betray in deepest consequence," -Banquo, Macbeth. When the rest of the world fears the darkness within you, it hardly seems polite to disagree. Sherlolly as Reylo StarWars!Lock AU.

1. Instrument of Darkness

Hello lovelies!

Here's some weird Sherlolly-As-Reylo-But-Not-Quite madness. Came up with this idea with my Super Awesome Bud Emily, to whom this fanfic is also dedicated :)

This story was supposed to be a short one-shot, but somehow turned into a massive two-shot over the course of the summer while I plunkered away at it. I can't promise when part two will be up, but hopefully within the next couple of months.

Just a heads up: I know absolutely nada about the Star Wars universe other than the fact that Reylo is life. If the Force sounds wonky that's because it IS. Also, the timeline for this story doesn't quite fit into the Post-Trilogy timeline… I sort of combined all the elements of Star Wars that I knew, and threw in a healthy dose of my own BS to make everything work, lol.

Let's just all remember that this is fanfiction and not be too harsh, haha.

As always, I own nothing and the characters belong to their respective owners.

Hope you enjoy!

-AAG1D

/

The first time Sherlock ever saw her…

Well, to be honest, he can't quite recall the first time his eyes laid upon her rather indistinguishable figure.

In all fairness, he had been quite young at the time – six, seven, somewhere around there. He hadn't bothered to completely commit the date to memory, so his first few days at the Jedi Academy were rather blurred and forgotten. He had been young – that he knew – and still reeling from the undefinable ache of losing his parents and older brother.

The world moved too fast, and little Sherlock had been unable to fully grasp all of it.

His only solid memories of those days contained fragments of Master Lestrade, as the older man had tried to make Sherlock comfortable and explain to him the intricacies of the gift that Sherlock had been given.

As far as he had been concerned, Lestrade could shove his so-called gift where the sun didn't shine so long as Sherlock could once again be with his brother.

Unfortunately, neither option was viable. Master Lestrade explained that the users did not choose the Force, but that rather the Force chose its users. And more importantly, Sherlock's family was… gone, and he needed to accept that if he ever wanted to find balance and control the gift that he had been given, rather than destroying everything in fits of passion as the emotions plagued him.

There was no question about it – those first few days were… muddy. He was sure he had first met her then, along with the other seventy-three students living on Yavin IV. But for the life of him he couldn't drudge up the memory.

It's not like it mattered though. He had plenty to make up for it.

/

"No."

"Please, Sherlock."

"No."

"Do you want me to fetch Master Lestrade?"

Sherlock grumbled while crossing his arms even tighter, presenting the stubbornest six-year-old that the instructor had ever had the displeasure of teaching.

"There's no need to get him," A familiar voice rang out. "He's already here."

The little boy found his posture softening ever so slightly at the warm-yet-exasperated tone. He'd never admit it aloud, but even after three weeks at the Academy, attending classes and being forced to interact with the others, he still was only truly comfortable around Master Lestrade – a fact that the other students never failed to exploit.

"Now, Sherlock," He felt the familiar presence move behind him, followed by a warm hand on his bony shoulder. "What's the issue?"

The instructor – really an idiot from Sherlock's perspective – rudely answered for him.

"He refuses to partner up for the group activities."

Sherlock felt something turbulent in the air, as he whipped his head around to scowl at the infuriating man. "Only because they're all a bunch of bantha fodder!"

Something in the air shifted.

The instructor took half a step back.

Sherlock fought to control his temper. He knew – or had been lectured, actually – on the negative effects of succumbing to the darkness and feeding off its energy. It was one of the reasons that the other students whispered behind his back and the teachers gave him concerned looks when they thought he wasn't aware.

That was the problem though.

Sherlock was always aware. It was a curse that he didn't understand. A connection that he seemed to have to everything. It made the world too loud, the people too obnoxious, and Sherlock's head feel like it could never keep up with it all.

Master Lestrade had said it was Sherlock's natural connection to the dark side of the Force.

For some reason, Sherlock was naturally drawn to the dangerous darkness that seemed to lurk within him. It was instinct, almost as easy breathing.

And it also gave him a terrible power that he wanted no part of.

He wasn't sure where it came from. When Master Lestrade had found him huddled in the burnt remains of his once-home, he had said that the light and the dark of the Force were natural essences of energy, and that it was actually common for someone to lean more towards a certain side than the other.

Of course, usually that side was the light, and generally the leaning did not equate complete immersion.

Somewhere along the line, however, Sherlock must have really pissed off whoever was responsible for the distribution of the Force.

Not that there was someone though, as he had been told repeatedly in the boring lessons he was forced to attend.

As Sherlock finally managed to calm the storm that was raging within him, Master Lestrade just eyed him contemplatively, his left hand never moving from his chin and his right still firmly placed on Sherlock's shoulder.

"I want him to partner with Molly."

The instructor finally seemed to start out of whatever trance of hesitation he had been stuck in. "I'm afraid she's attending her own advance classes at the moment, Master."

Lestrade's eyes never wavered from Sherlock's own. "No matter. She can miss a day of class. In fact, her natural predisposition for the light might help balance out Sherlock."

The instructor didn't look like he wanted to agree – his mouth was pressed into a hard line, and his shoulders were just slightly more tense than normal. But in the end, he gave a sharp nod. "Of course, Master. I'll fetch her myself." And like that he was gone, leaving Sherlock alone with Lestrade.

The boy broke eye contact first, diverting his attention to where his toe was scuffing the earthen floor. For a long moment, neither said anything. Then:

"Do me one favour, Sherlock," Master Lestrade had lowered his voice so that none of the other curious ears – the majority of which were not so discreetly turned towards them – couldn't hear. "Give her a chance. Be nice. She's different from the rest, and will be a good friend for you, if you let her."

Sherlock maintained his silence. Lestrade let out an exasperated breath, but was saved from coming up with another cajole by two sets of footsteps – one most definitely lighter than the other's.

"Molly," Lestrade stood up straight with a smile on his face, a notable tone of relief in his voice. "Thank you for coming. Sherlock here needs a partner for the exercises, and I would like you to fulfill that role for today please."

"Of course, Master."

Sherlock refused to turn around. "Excellent." Master Lestrade gave him one last stern look. "Be nice, Sherlock." And then he was gone, along with that oaf of an instructor.

Biting his lip, Sherlock pasted the nastiest scowl he could muster onto his face and turned around.

He was severely disappointed.

The girl was about his height, though perhaps an inch shorter. Her mousy-brown hair was pulled back into a simple braid, and she smiled at him with such inherent goodness that Sherlock thought he was going to be sick.

Master Lestrade was crazy if he thought that this was going to work.

The girl – Molly – ignored his scowl. "Well," Her grin broadened, if that was even possible, "Shall we get started?"

Sherlock eyed the girl with disdain.

"I suppose," He grumbled, still unaware of what a cataclysmically life-changing presence she would be in his life.

/

Sherlock truly hated the Academy.

And it seemed that everyone at the Academy save for Master Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson – the old lady who tended to meal preparation – hated Sherlock.

And then there was Molly.

Molly didn't seem to hate Sherlock at all.

It was strange at first, having another child his age be willing to not just tolerate his presence, but seem to enjoy it as well. After twenty minutes of pulling teeth during that first partner exercise together, Sherlock came to the stunning conclusion that although Molly Hooper was much too cheery for anybody's good, she was also clever.

And Sherlock loved clever people.

She was nowhere near as clever as him, of course. Even without the enhancement that the darkness seemed to provide him, Sherlock knew that he was smart. He always had been. And while Molly didn't have a natural prowess for observation, she was intellectually intuitive and intriguing.

Plus she somehow managed to weather Sherlock's foul temper with a smile and a laugh.

He eventually gave up scowling when he realized that it bothered her none, and silently resigned himself to her presence – a presence that he had to admit wasn't altogether repellent either.

She was a few months younger than him, but her naturally strong connection to the Force had moved her into the training regimen for the higher years. She was a walking embodiment of the light side of the Force, and rather than being repelled, Sherlock found himself fascinated with her absolute goodness.

It was strange, really. Sherlock knew that it was impossible for her to be ignorant of the whisperings concerning him. She had to have known about the ever-looming darkness that seemed to have sunk its clutches into his chest and refused to leave. She had to have known of the several incidences he had had since he'd been at the Academy. And she had to have known that people – especially good people like her – should've avoided him at all cost.

And yet, she treated him no differently than any other student, even though he wasn't.

He was Sherlock Holmes, the cursed child who found the dark side of the Force all too tempting.

Molly didn't seem to care, however. In fact, it was almost irksome how she smiled at him so winsomely, as though they had been best friends since infancy and hadn't just met. He tried to use his annoyance to fuel a hatred for her like he did for everyone else, only it didn't work.

For the darkness that was usually too easily accessible for him, was suppressed.

For the first time in a long time, Sherlock could breath.

Weeks following that first encounter, Sherlock tried to convince himself that it was that fact that kept drawing him back to her presence. That he simply wanted a reprieve from the darkness that constantly consumed him, and that was why each passing day found him spending more and more time in her presence.

He certainly didn't like her.

No matter how many times she smiled at him as though he was the universe incarnate.

/

"You need to learn to breathe, Sherlock."

The young boy in question did his best not to grind his teeth, choosing instead to ignore the pesky voice over his shoulder.

"Scrunching your eyes up like you're constipated doesn't help with the process."

"Oh, sod off!" Sherlock finally burst, eyes flying open as the energy around him was pulled taunt in frustration. "These breathing exercises are bantha fodder!"

Master Lestrade merely raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

"Yes, well, that bantha fodder is going to make your life a lot easier if you just put some effort into it," Lestrade shot back before sighing. "Your connection to the dark side of the Force is powerful, Sherlock. You need to create an equally powerful connection to the light if you ever want any hope of finding balance."

The boy grumbled to himself in discontent before saying petulantly: "Well maybe I don't want balance."

The older man stared at him sadly, and long enough for Sherlock to feel foolish for losing his temper. He fidgeted awkwardly.

And then Lestrade repeated the mantra that brought all of Sherlock's righteous fury raging back to the surface.

"This isn't about what you want Sherlock, but rather, it's about what you need."

Sherlock hated, hated, hated that sentence.

And he expressed his disapproval in an angry bellow. "Who are you to say what I need and don't? You're not my brother!"

As soon as the words left his mouth, Sherlock found himself spiralling deeper and deeper into the darkness. His brother. The pain that tore at his chest was unimaginable. Sure, he missed his parents – his mother's gentle caresses and his father's fond smiles.

But his missed Myc the most.

His older brother had been his best friend, his confidant, his hero. No one could be as amazing as Myc, and as a result, no one could fill the gaping hole that he had left behind either.

It had been months, but the pain of his loss still hadn't dulled. If anything, the ache grew worse as the darkness seemed to feed off of what was left. He was drowning in the darkness, and gasping for something he couldn't find. Perhaps it would just be easier to give in, and surrender to that which he couldn't defeat…

A sharp brilliance of pain pulled Sherlock out of his misery.

He blinked twice, his tiny hands coming up to cover his already throbbing cheek, as he turned his broken eyes to the terrified man who was grasping his shoulders.

Sherlock didn't hesitate to bury his face in the older Jedi's robes as the sobs wracked his petite frame. He didn't care that it was unbecoming for a boy of his age to behave as he was. All he knew was that for a moment he couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe.

Lestrade didn't hesitate to wrap the frightened boy in his arms, trying to hide the way that his own body was shaking with fear.

"It's alright, Sherlock," He comforted in hushed tones. "I promise that everything's going to be alright."

/

Their sticks clashed relentlessly, battering out the noise of the others training.

Molly laughed as she easily maneuvered away from Sherlock's lunge, lighter on her feet than Sherlock could ever imagine being.

"C'mon Sherlock," Her mouth twisted into a teasing grin, as she spun her wooden staff with a natural ease. "At least put a little effort into it."

Despite his mounting annoyance at being so easily taunted, Sherlock found his mouth twisting into an awkwardly fond smile, even as he rolled his eyes exasperatedly. He had grown to admire the way that she would shamelessly tease him as though he were any other student. It was a refreshing break from the tip-toeing that everyone else did around him.

It was nearing six months since Sherlock had been brought to Yavin IV, and although there were still many aspects of his life that left plenty to be desired, there were also some parts that he wouldn't give up for the world.

Molly Hooper was one of those parts.

Despite the fact that Master Lestrade had forced her to return to her own training regimen a few weeks after Sherlock had adjusted to the Academy, she still sought him out in her spare time. And although Sherlock had been wary at first, he had grown to accept one undeniable fact.

He liked Molly Hooper.

And he was going to keep her as his friend.

She could still be ridiculously annoying at the best of times, but there was also a soothing presence to her that cleared Sherlock's chaotic mind and allowed him to feel at peace for once.

The other students still whispered, and he had noticed that they had begun to shun Molly as well when she had made no effort to hide her affection for him. The one time that he'd mentioned it though she had looked at him as though he had stated that elephants could fly.

"So what if they avoid me?" She had retorted back with a frown. "I have you."

She then proceeded to jab her fingers into his side, resulting in Sherlock letting out an undignified yelp before she ran off in a fit of giggles. Despite the redness in his ears, Sherlock had smiled and quickly ran after her.

He was brought back to the present with a whap to his side that was slightly more forceful than it was supposed to be.

He glowered at his friend.

She gave him a smile that was too toothy to be innocent. He responded with another eyeroll before lunging at her the way he was taught to do.

Physical training was one of the few classes that they had together. Although Molly was much more ahead of him on the Force aspect of things, Sherlock was still more adept when it came to physical training and intellectual prowess, resulting in the two sharing the gruelling class.

And while Molly was lighter on her feet, Sherlock was much more lethal in his strategy.

It was only a few moments more before Molly misplaced her footing, sending her entire position askance. Her staff swung around dangerously as her arms wheeled for balance. Sherlock saw what was going to happen a moment before it did, and reached out to try and steady her.

His efforts ended with both of them letting out grunts of pain as they fell in a heap of limbs on the floor. Sherlock was aware of a few of the other students letting out snickers, but he ignored them, instead turning his attention to Molly.

"Are you alright?"

She let out a groan of humiliation. "I hate physical training."

Sherlock couldn't hide the laughter that escaped his lips.

/

He couldn't escape.

But more importantly, Sherlock couldn't breathe.

He was running through the darkness, wading through his fear. Trying – and failing – to evade the creature that sought to sink its talons into his body.

Sherlock…

His flesh prickled with goose bumps as the voice pierced his consciousness. Even in his murky state of fear Sherlock knew that the voice wasn't a figment of his nightmare.

Somehow, it was real.

And for some reason, it wanted Sherlock.

He pushed his legs farther, even as the darkness suffocated him more. He felt the tendrils of heat licking at his legs, and the darkness that he was drowning in turned to smoke as fire seared around him and-

"Sherlock, wake up!"

A burst of light had the little boy sitting up in bed, gasping for breath as his unseeing eyes clawed at reality. His chest heaved with fear, and the tears were flowing freely down his cheeks as he finally managed to focus on the saviour who rescued him from the dangers of sleep.

Molly.

She was dressed in her uniformed nightgown, and her slightly askew hair suggested her own sudden waking. Her hands were on his shoulders as though she had just managed to shake him awake.

"Molly?" His voice was scratchy with sleep, though the strain in it was suggestive of something else as well. "What happened?"

For the first that he could remember, Molly's smile was gone and her eyes shone with fear.

Not fear of him though. Fear for him.

"You were having a nightmare," She said, hands gripping even tighter to him. "I-I don't actually know what happened. But it was as though I could feel your panic through the Force. It woke me up and I ran here as quickly as I could."

Sherlock's mind was cloudy. Had he inadvertently called out to her? He didn't even know that was possible. She was by far the strongest life that he could sense through the Force, but he had always presumed that was just because they spent so much time together and that he had familiarized himself with her Force signature. He hadn't realized how deep that connection actually went.

She was still staring at him with concern. "Are you okay?"

Sherlock swallowed hard around the dryness of his throat. No, he was not okay. But he didn't want to worry his friend, so he offered her a shaky smile instead.

"Yeah," He couldn't meet her eyes. "Sorry that I woke you."

Molly didn't look convinced. Hell, Sherlock wasn't convinced. But she nodded her head all the same, finally releasing him.

"Alright-" No, it wasn't alright. "-I should head back to my room then before someone notices that I'm missing."

Sherlock agreed with the logic of her statement. Within the moment he was able to analyse exactly why what she said made so much sense: First, it was against the rules to be out of your quarters after curfew. The Academy was strict in that sense, and Sherlock wasn't exactly keen on seeing how far he could bend the boundaries.

Even more so, Lestrade and the other Masters absolutely forbade males and females from being in each others' rooms. Jedi were not supposed to form deep connections with each other, and while Sherlock still wasn't overtly familiar with what happened in a bedroom between a boy and a girl, he knew that whatever happened certainly threw the adults into a hullabaloo because it enabled deeper relationships to form.

Sherlock wasn't exactly sure what he and Molly would get up to that would meet those expectations, but he had seen Lestrade get angry, and it wasn't exactly something Sherlock wanted to provoke.

The fact that Molly was in his room and after curfew was a whole other can of worms in itself. Although Sherlock knew that Lestrade tended to bend the rules when it came to Sherlock anyways, he didn't quite believe that this would fly with the Jedi Master.

In half a breath these facts flew before Sherlock's eyes, and it wasn't even a moment later that he found himself agreeing with Molly's assessment of the situation.

But that still didn't stop the panic from skewering Sherlock's senses as she went to turn away.

Sherlock felt the calmness that came along with her presence disperse as well, and the creeping darkness that he knew waited for him caused his hand to lunge out and grab a hold of her own.

"Wait!" Sherlock whisper shouted in fear. "Please don't go. I…" He trailed off as he bit his lip, unsure of what to say. His ears were burning but he could care less about the mortification. He just didn't want to be left at the mercy of the darkness again.

Molly seemed to understand without his saying so. Wordlessly, she crawled into bed with him, nudging him over in order to make room for two on the small cot. Her hand stayed firmly interlocked with his own, even as she snuggled further into the sheets. "Don't worry Sherlock," She mumbled as sleep began to claim her again. "I'm not going anywhere."

Sherlock listened as her breathing steadied out.

And he revelled in the stillness that he only ever experienced in her presence.

To hell with the consequences. He knew that if they were caught, the result would not be pretty. But as his eyelids grew heavy with sleep once more, and he comforted himself with her hand in his, Sherlock couldn't really bring himself to care.

It would only be for the one night.

Just one night, he promised himself. One night to finally sleep in peace.

/

One night turned into many nights.

And many nights turned into every night.

/

Time passed. Although Sherlock still very much stood out as the odd one in his new environment, he slowly started to ingratiate himself better. It was almost as though the darkness had receded and given up on him. It still lingered like an afterthought, but it no longer choked him at every possible moment.

And somehow, he had Molly Hooper to thank for that.

There was just something about her presence that seemed to banish the darkness from Sherlock's life. He knew not whether it was her ardent connection to the light, or merely her almost annoyingly cheery disposition that was to blame but truthfully, he could care less.

He never slept alone anymore. Every night once the light had all but disappeared from the Academy and all others were already deeply entrenched in the netherworld of sleep, his door would creak open and Molly Hooper would silently crawl into his bed. Very rarely were words passed between them. Rather, her small hand would intertwine with his own, and the two of them would drift off into blissfully silent sleep.

The nightmares never returned, and neither did the shadowy figure.

In the morning they would rise at the crack of dawn, and Molly would stealthily return to her own chambers for her last few hours of sleep. While she always advised Sherlock to do the same, the boy would instead stay up and meditate on the peace that always came with her presence, doing his best to forge his own connection to the light.

It never worked, but it was a much safer activity than attempting to sleep on his own.

It was only months later, that Sherlock realized with a jolt how utterly dependent he had become on Molly Hooper.

Surprisingly, it was not as disturbing of a thought as it should have been.

Sherlock hadn't felt this close to anyone since his older brother had died. It was a slightly absurd and very new feeling, but not altogether unpleasant. In fact, it was almost as though it made life bearable.

Which was perhaps why he didn't automatically oppose it when his mind moved Molly Hooper from 'Useful Friend' to 'Potential Best Friend.'

/

"Well, well, well," A cruel voice smirked. "If it isn't Holmes and Hooper."

Sherlock immediately tensed from where he had been basking in the sun, his fingers tightening ever so slightly on the book in his grasp. Molly, who had been idly laying beside him and tinkering with some electronic that she had found, sat up immediately, an unhappy frown marring her visage.

"Jim," Sherlock could barely keep the dislike from his voice as he pasted on a fake smile. It fell almost immediately. "What do you want?"

It had been over two years since Sherlock had come to the Academy, and while he still wasn't the most admirable student (that title went to Molly without a doubt) he had at least gotten better at interacting with some of the others.

Unfortunately, Jim Moriarty was not privileged to be counted amongst that group.

A snake of a boy, Jim was a year younger than Sherlock, but having been raised on Yavin IV and being well advanced when it came to their Force training, Jim was well respected and liked by nearly everyone on the planet.

The two exceptions being Sherlock and Molly.

The younger boy had taking a liking to teasing Sherlock, and had made it a near-daily game to see how far he could push the older boy.

"Not a thing, Freak," Jim's canines seemed inhumanly sharp when he smiled. "Just wondering when you'll make it past the Youngling training regimen."

Sherlock grit his teeth and he could feel a sharp flick of darkness burst through his psyche. It was only Molly's warning hand on his shoulder that stopped him from lunging forward.

"Enough, Jim," Molly's voice was cold. "Go bother someone else."

Jim's predatory eyes darted to Molly. In a way, Sherlock found that even worse. After a moment, he offered her an almost mocking bow of deference. The only thing that stopped the mocking was the sickening look of worship in his gaze. "If you so wish it," He all but simpered.

Sherlock found his anger flaring for a completely different reason.

It was almost sick, in Sherlock's mind. The way that Jim seemed to be enamoured with Molly. He understood respect and admiration – Molly was easily one of the most gifted students when it came to the Force, and even the most belligerent of students (cough, Sherlock, cough) could recognize her talents.

And yet, Jim took things to an entirely new level. It was as though Molly was the only one in the entire universe, and he worshipped the ground she walked on. It annoyed Sherlock to no end when he could feel the other boy's eyes on his friend, and moreover, it made something ugly knot in Sherlock's stomach.

He fought to ignore it. But it was almost harder to ignore than the darkness.

Sherlock eyed Jim's retreating back, his hackles never lowering.

"I don't like him," He all but growled out.

Despite the fact that Molly seemed to let out a small breath as well with the other child's departure, she still raised an eyebrow at Sherlock. "You don't like anyone."

Sherlock frowned in petulance. "That's not true."

"Oh yeah?" Molly raised a teasing eyebrow at him. "Name one person you like."

Sherlock didn't even hesitate.

"You."

For some reason, that made Molly blush. Sherlock wasn't sure why though – it was indisputably true. Whether she liked it or not, Molly was one of the few people that Sherlock Holmes had taken a liking to. He wasn't planning on changing that anytime soon.

Her blush was still curious though. In all the time that he had known her she rarely allowed any hint of crimson be noticed on her cheekbones. At the moment it was staining her ears and dipping beneath the collar of her shirt.

"Yes, well…" Molly seemed to be at a loss of words. "I meant other than that, obviously," She tacked on, stealing a page out of his own book.

Sherlock felt his own ears heating at that.

A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, as he returned his attention to his book in an effort to divert the subject. Still, he found himself responding to her previous statement.

"Obviously," He echoed. "Obviously."

/

"How many stars do you think there are?"

Sherlock startled at the voice, having presumed Molly to had already fallen asleep. It had been a busy day for the whole Academy, what with the visit of Lady Smallwood having happened and all. Although Sherlock wasn't much of one for politics (there were only so many discussions about food shortages that his ten-year-old mind could take), even Phillip Anderson couldn't have missed the sheer amount of beads and finery the Senator had been decked out in.

He shifted slightly in his bed to look at Molly with greater ease, only to find her attention trapped on his window where the stars winked silently from behind. He didn't dare to move anymore – they had both grown a fair bit since they had started sharing a bed, and although they could still fit comfortably on his single cot, it was certainly a tight sort of comfortable.

Sherlock lifted a shoulder. "Lots I suppose."

Molly's gaze grew unimpressed as she diverted it towards him, an eyebrow raised. "No sithspit, Sherlock. I thought you were the smart one."

The comment caused his lower lip to jut out. "I am the smart one."

Molly's unimpressed expression didn't go away. "I still don't know how you manage to fool everyone else into believing that."

Sherlock rolled his eyes but didn't bother to respond. Everyone else thought he was a genius solely because he could look at them and detail their whole life in under a minute. The wow factor on that alone earned him several names – not all of them kind. If someone got past that initial bluster though…

Well, that didn't matter as Molly was the only one who had ever done so, and was the only one who would ever do so if Sherlock had any say in it.

"Back to the question," Molly interrupted his thoughts. "If you had to guess, how many stars would you say there are?"

"I don't guess," Sherlock shot back.

Molly's glare quickly silenced him.

"But if I had to make an educated remark, I'd say trillions," Sherlock finally muttered a moment later. "Not that it matters though."

A frown marred Molly's face. "What makes you say that? We live in the galaxy and as Force users we are completely intertwined with it. How does that not make it relevant?"

"Because," Sherlock shifted once more, his eyes firmly finding the roof and avoiding Molly's. "So long as you're with me, none of the rest of the galaxy matters."

A beat of silence in the dark.

Sherlock almost feared that he had gone too far.

And then a small hand snaked into his under the covers, and Sherlock found himself able to release a breath that he hadn't even realized that he had been holding.

"I feel the same," Molly's breath was hushed. "You're my best friend, Sherlock."

It was a long while before Sherlock responded.

"You're mine too, Molly."

The response was a squeeze of his hand.

/

"Are you nervous?"

The question caused his eye to twitch.

"No."

"Liar."

He shifted ever so slightly to catch her eye. The cot that they shared was nearly too small for them, ever since Sherlock had begun to grow. He was now nearly three inches taller than Molly, and he suspected that it wouldn't be long until he stretched another half dozen. The bed that was designed for a single child strained under the weight of the two thirteen-year-olds.

In the dim light of the early morning, Sherlock could barely make out the freckles that dusted the bridge of Molly's nose. "What makes you say that?"

Molly raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Your breathing patterns didn't change all night which meant you didn't sleep. And you only ever sleep when you're thinking about something, and you only ever waste brain power thinking about things when you are unsure of them."

Sherlock's lips thinned at her explanation, but he could hardly deny it. Instead he shot back with: "Well clearly you didn't sleep either."

Molly was unflappable. "Yes, but I never denied being nervous."

Sherlock let out a huff of exasperation, even as the corners of his lips threatened to twitch into a smile. She clearly spent too much time with him, and yet he couldn't quite bring himself to care.

It was sort of endearing, in an odd sort of way.

"We probably should've slept," Molly mused. "I don't know how much time aboard the shuttle we'll have for shut-eye, and during the Gathering process I doubt we'd be able to sleep even if we had the time."

Sherlock couldn't argue with that one. Instead his eyes shifted to the slowly brightening light coming through his window. The sun wasn't up yet, but soon enough the inhabitants of Yavin IV would be.

"You should probably go," He said at last, voice finally beginning to shake the last vestiges of the weird sleep-like realm in which he had been inhabiting.

"Yeah," Molly agreed, though she made no movement to get up.

There was a moment of silence. Sherlock finally broke it with the question that had been nagging him all evening.

"Molly… what if I don't find a crystal?"

He felt more so than saw Molly intake a breath. And then the next thing he knew her hand was intertwining with his, and squeezing his fingers so tightly it almost hurt.

"You will find a crystal Sherlock," The fervour in her tone and the promise in her eyes nearly caught him off guard. "You will. Lestrade wouldn't have assigned you to this Gathering if he didn't think you were ready to start the trials."

"And if I fail?" He found himself droning. "What then?"

Molly set her lips in a determined line. "Then we leave."

That jolted Sherlock. "Molly, don't be ridiculous. You can't-"

"I can and I will," She stated stubbornly. "You're my best friend Sherlock and I'm not going to spend the rest of my life without just because you couldn't find some stupid crystal in a cave. Besides, perhaps I won't find one. Perhaps neither of us will find one. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. The list goes on and on but it's ridiculous to speculate because you will find that crystal. Understood?"

Molly finished her semi-rant with a scowl of frustration and a determined twinkle in her eye. Although Sherlock didn't necessarily agree with her assessment of the situation, he prudently decided to keep his musings to himself.

"Understood," His voice being nothing more than a whispered secret between the two of them.

"Good," She nodded her head, before finally bracing herself and sitting up, jolting Sherlock out of his comfortable position. "I'm going to get going. Try to get an hour of sleep before we go. I'll see you at breakfast."

She was gone before he could respond.

Like always, he didn't sleep after she left.

/

The wind whipped his robes as he made his way up the ramp, the feel of a dozen sets of eyes following his every move. Lestrade stood at the top, his arms crossed and an unimpressed look marring his worn features.

"You're late, Sherlock," He shouted as the ship began to rise and the ramp behind the teenager slowly raised. "I expected you to take this at least a bit more seriously."

Sherlock shrugged as he made his way to the two spare seats beside Molly – typical, really. A space for him to sit, with an extra seat separating him from whichever unfortunate soul who drew the short end of the stick and had to sit near him.

"Why're you late?" Molly whispered to him as the other younglings eyed the two distrustfully. They were probably wondering what they had done to be stuck in the same Gathering as Sherlock.

Sherlock grunted as he struggled to strap himself in. "Lost track of time," He lied.

Immediately he could tell that she knew that he was lying, and yet she didn't push the subject for which he was glad. In truth he had lost his concentration during his morning meditation, and completely dozed off. While it wasn't a deep sleep or anything, it was still just enough for the darkness to tickle at his unsuspecting conscious, and weasel its way into his doubts.

He had woken with a start, sweat dripping from his brow and his stomach in knots. The clay jars on his window sill in which he stored his collection of dried herbs had completely shattered, and the loss of control had left him unsettled and unbalanced – a bad mix for someone about to search for a kyber crystal.

As the ship lurched into hyperspace Sherlock could feel Master Lestrade's eyes linger on his frame. Like Molly he was a little too perceptive when it came to seeing through Sherlock, and the last thing he wanted was for Lestrade to hold him back from the trials just because of this little setback.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the hull, attempting to clear his mind. The vibration from the airborne ship sent a soothing lull down Sherlock's spine, and the presence of Molly beside him certainly helped as well.

It was all too soon when the ship jerked out of hyperspace and entered into the Ilum system. There was a tangible vibe in the air as the other younglings strained in anticipation and nerves.

Sherlock opened his eyes as he felt the ship come to rest on the frozen planet.

"Alright now," Lestrade called. "Just as you've learned. I will accompany you through the first portion of the test though I will not be of assistance. Once we come to the caves you will venture out on your own and hopefully return with your crystal. May the Force be with you."

With that the ramp began to lower and a cold gust of wind rushed over the seating area. Like the others Sherlock quickly stood up and headed out, only pausing momentarily to wait for Molly to unbuckle. The sooner the trials were done with the better.

The Gathering was composed of eight students and three Masters other than Master Lestrade. Two Masters, Artelle and Bronin, had been brought along solely to oversee transportation. Master Trellis – the bane of Sherlock's existence during his early years at the Academy – was providing Lestrade support in overseeing the Gathering. Sherlock presumed that the only reason the idiotic master had volunteered to come was so that he could have a front row seat for Sherlock's epic failure.

Not that Sherlock was going to fail.

Yeah.

The other younglings chosen for the group weren't much better than the Masters. With the exception of Molly, there was Sally Donovan and Philip Anderson – two kids who lead the 'I Hate Sherlock Holmes' fanclub. Three of the other students – a boy and a set of twin girls – barely registered in Sherlock's memory.

The last student just happened to be Jim Moriarty, of course. Because Force forbid Sherlock ever get any reprieve from the parasitic boy.

His thoughts were interrupted as the wind battered his body and the harsh snow temporarily blinded him. He sensed more than saw the avalanche blocking the cave entrance.

The first trial.

Through the blizzard Sherlock was vaguely aware of Master Lestrade moving off to the side and leaving them to clear the path into the caves. He immediately fell back on his training and focused on the Force, feeling its presence in the planet and most noticeably the way it seemed to pool beneath his feet, calling out to his blood.

The others clearly felt it too.

Sherlock planted his feet before emptying his mind. He forgot about the cold nipping at his toes and the wind howling against his cheeks. In a moment it was as though he fell from one reality into another as the blankness in his mind was replaced with an intricate web of everything.

He could see it all. He could feel it all. Every thread of life. Every touch of death. It taunted him. It was him.

As always, he struggled to find his balance between the life and the death, the light and the dark. The threads were too bright and the emptiness too haunting. A simple misstep and he would drown in the neverness and be lost in the evermore.

If not for Molly's familiar presence in the Force, he would've undoubtedly spiralled into the darkness.

Using the warmth of her presence he grounded himself in reality and grasped onto the light. Between one breath and another he felt the completeness of the Force flood his veins, and he didn't have to open his eyes to know that the other students felt the same, and that the snow was clearing.

It was almost instinctual when Sherlock knew that the path was clear, and he stepped forward, the others following suit. Lestrade followed like a disembodied shadow.

The inside of the cave was… silent. Sherlock was hyperaware of the crunch of snow underfoot and the way that it seemed to echo in the quiet place.

They walked for a while before the tunnel opened up to a cavern where the world outside seemed like nothing more than a distant memory. On the far side there were eight smaller tunnels branching off into darkness.

The second trial.

A nervous spark of anticipation threaded through Sherlock's veins. Unanimously each student picked a tunnel, and walked to the mouth of it.

"Remember," Lestrade's voice echoed in the stillness. "Balance is the key. In order to advance to the next level of your training you must find balance." Perhaps it was all in Sherlock's mind, but the last bit seemed pointedly directed towards where he stood. "As always," Lestrade said, "May the Force be with you."

And with that they each descended into their respective caves.

/

Like the rest of the caves, it was quiet.

Sherlock's breaths came out in tiny puffs of air, and all was silent save for the sound of his shoes as they clacked silently across the icy surface. Everyone's experience was different. There was ultimately no way to prepare for the test other than to know oneself, and prepare to meet that which haunts in the night.

Sherlock knew what terrified him.

Which was why he halted in his tracks in shock when he rounded a corner and was met with himself.

Well, a six-year-old version of himself.

The Other-Him blinked innocently. "Hello," It ventured.

Sherlock tensed, but responded in kind, his voice deeper than the Other-Him.

"Hello."

And then the punch to the gut came.

"Have you seen Myc?"

It was as though Sherlock's insides had been hollowed out and replaced with cotton. He staggered despite the lack of wind, and his hand reached for the side of the tunnel to support himself. He was breathless as he let out an incredulous "What?"

But the Other-Him didn't respond.

Rather, it turned and ran in the opposite direction of Sherlock, farther into the darkness.

Sherlock stared after it for a long moment.

The last thing he wanted to do was delve deeper into the darkness after a freaky mini-him, but at the same time, it was the only way to attain his kyber crystal.

Mind made up, Sherlock steeled himself before hastening after the figment.

When he finally caught up, he wished he hadn't.

Myc was standing there.

But it wasn't Myc at the same time. His brother held a harsh glint in his eye that Sherlock didn't recall, and his smile was a little too sharp to be kind.

"Brother mine," The voice was cold and full of condescension. "So glad you could finally join us."

Sherlock slowed to a halt a few feet back from the imposter, and although he knew, he knew, that the figment wasn't real, it didn't stop his flesh from crawling and his stomach from twisting itself into knots.

"Myc," Sherlock all but whispered.

The smile grew predatory. "Mycroft's the name they gave me, if you could bother sticking with it the whole way through."

The words were a slap of reality. Sherlock had always called his brother Myc, and the harsh words helped enforce the fact that the figment wasn't real.

But something was wrong.

The trial was supposed to pull on one's greatest fear and force that person to face it and come out a better person.

Sherlock wasn't entirely sure where his fears were coming into play. After all, where was the darkness that had haunted him that very morning? His brother was the farthest thing from his fears – regrets, yes, but fears no.

It was as though the figment could read his mind.

"You still don't know, do you?"

Ah. It wasn't his greatest fear; It was his greatest weakness.

Curiosity.

"Know what?" The words escaped his mouth almost involuntarily.

Mycroft's smile turned sinister. "After all this time. All that potential. And you still ended up as nothing more than a goldfish like all the others."

"Know what, Mycroft?" Sherlock spat the word, and before he knew it the distance between himself and the figment had shortened; disappeared completely. Darkness tinted at the edges of Sherlock's vision, but he found himself uncaring, even as the shift in power tinged the air. His hands bound themselves in Mycroft's robes, as he thrust his brother's body against the wall, anger defying reason.

It only made the figment smile more.

"Know the obvious, Sherlock," His voice was quiet and his breath tickled Sherlock's ear. "Know that you're the one who killed our family. You're the one who killed me."

The world stilled and Sherlock couldn't find his breath. It's a lie. But he couldn't quite bring himself to believe it.

"That's because I'm not lying," The voice was different, and a hundred times worse. He didn't want to look to confirm his fears, but he had to.

"I would never lie to you," The innocent face of Molly Hooper smiled up at him. "Never, Sherlock," Her head turned and her lips ghosted dangerously close to his. "Never…"

It wasn't her. It wasn't her. It wasn't her.

But it felt like it was.

And that's what terrified him most. As her eyes slowly closed and she leaned ever closer to him, Sherlock made his decision.

He slammed his hands into her body, pushing her back and off of him.

Only his hands went through her.

And slammed into the cold ice of the wall, one taking the brunt of the impact.

As the darkness cleared from his vision, he realized that he was alone with the silence once more. His heart rate was elevated and breathing was heavy, and his emotions were flaring dangerously.

He painfully removed his bloody hand from the broken ice of the tunnel wall.

Only to see a glimmer of clear light.

Breath in his throat, he used his uninjured hand to pull away at the chunks of ice, revealing the smooth edges of a clear kyber crystal.

Sherlock nearly couldn't believe his eyes as he reached forward and pulled it out. As soon as his fingers brushed against it, it changed to a vivid hue of blue.

He did it.

He was going to be a Jedi.

/

The ship was silent on the way back.

Three of the students failed. The boy and one of the twin girls whose names Sherlock hadn't bothered to remember were in near hysterics, their kyber crystals absent. Philip Anderson also didn't have his crystal, though he was holding his composure much better than the other two were.

Molly sat beside him, tight-lipped and clutching her bright green crystal. Whatever she had seen in the caves had shook her to her core, and she refused to talk about it. Instead she was pretending (badly) to be tired after the excursion.

Sherlock didn't press the matter. The last thing he wanted was her reciprocating and inquiring into his own trial.

Lestrade seemed to know that something was off with all of them, but thankfully he put it down to the stress from the trial. Sherlock averted his eyes, his hands tightening around his own crystal.

He couldn't help but wonder what would've happened had he also leaned forward, instead of pushing the Molly-figment away.

/

It was silent between them.

Despite being crammed on the tiny cot together, Sherlock felt like Molly was a million miles away. He knew that the trial had been stressful, but he hadn't expected her to shut him out as she was currently doing.

Then again, perhaps it went both ways. Sherlock hadn't exactly been forthcoming with his own experiences when she asked.

Still though, Molly wasn't Sherlock. That's why he liked her so much. She was everything that he always failed to be and so much more. She was kind. She was thoughtful. And for some odd reason, she liked him.

Despite all that however, she had clammed up like a shell and for the first time in the entirety of their friendship, Sherlock was painfully aware that she was purposely keeping something from him.

He nudged her shoulder lightly with his own. He knew she wasn't sleeping yet – her breaths were too deliberately quiet.

"What is it?" His voice had lowered to a baritone over the course of the year, and now it rumbled somewhat ominously in the dark.

He felt her tense for the briefest of moments. Then: "Nothing's wrong. Just tired."

A bold-faced lie.

Her back was towards him – another anomaly that Sherlock had never been privy too; Usually they slept shoulder to shoulder or facing one another. The cot was so small that any other direction – such as the one that they were currently in – was vastly uncomfortably.

…Plus It put Sherlock in the awkward position of not, well… spooning her.

Not that he had any inclination to do that, or anything. Friends didn't do that. They didn't do that. It was just a fact that his mind had noted along the way, despite being completely irrelevant to the situation.

Yeah.

It was still awkward though.

His body was tense, hovering an inch away from her in an attempt to appease her silent wish of privacy, while still struggling to find a modicum of comfort.

"Molly?"

His question was met with forced silence. He could almost see her miniscule effort to appear asleep. After another moment during which no response ensued, Sherlock finally gave into his instincts.

His body succumbing to the exhaustion of the day, he all but melted onto her back, his hand coming to rest on her waist while his forehead thudded into the back of her skull. The question that had secretly been haunting him since they're time on Ilum was answered: His Molly was infinitely better than whatever figment that that stupid cave had conjured.

Even if his Molly wasn't leaning forward to kiss him.

Where the kriff had that thought come from?

Doing his best to push his alarm away, Sherlock squashed such a thought into the deep recesses of his memory, deciding instead to focus on the present in order to stop his mind from wandering too far. Molly's hair tickled his nose, and so he solved the problem by nuzzling it even further into her dark golden locks.

"Stop ignoring me." He stated, doing his best to not over think whatever the hell it was that he was doing, and even more so trying to ignore the way that her entire body tensed beneath his touch. He wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing, but he was tired enough of her antics to dismiss such behaviour. "Molly."

"What?" The word was mumbled as though thick with sleep, but Sherlock wasn't fooled.

"If you're done fake sleeping now, would you mind telling me what's going on?"

A petulant huff of air. "Nothing's going on Sherlock. And I was trying to sleep. If you don't recall, neither of us exactly got much shut-eye last night." Her words were said playfully, but there was an undoubted sense of shortness to them that made the hair on the back of Sherlock's neck stand on end.

The silence hung heavy in the air. Then:

"Did I do something wrong?"

That finally provoked a reaction.

Unfortunately it wasn't as smooth of a reaction as Sherlock had hoped for. Molly went to whip her body around to angrily counter such a stupid claim. However, neither teenager realized exactly how far Sherlock had managed to nuzzle into her hair, resulting with the sudden movement ending with both of them grabbing at various body parts in pain.

"Ow- Sherlock- what the heck are you doing?" Molly whispered screeched as her hair got stuck in the buttons of Sherlock's shirt. The resulting snare was yanking terribly at the roots of her hair.

Sherlock was not much better off.

He let go of her waist in order to bring both hands up to his slightly swelling nose. She had whipped her head around so fast that Sherlock had not had anytime to move his own, and he was now paying the consequences as his nose ached considerably.

"What am I doing?" Sherlock questioned her in disbelief, "You were the one ignoring me! The proper question is what are you doing?"

Molly Hooper had the audacity to look affronted. "Me? I was minding my own business, which is much more than I can say about you, Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock released the pressure on his face. Their noses had somehow gotten within inches of each other, and a small part of Sherlock's mind was wondering when exactly that had happened.

"I am trying to be a decent friend. You're the one ignoring me when there's clearly something wrong!"

"And there wouldn't be anything wrong if I hadn't had to kill you!"

Sherlock's mind stopped. Any argument he thought he had disintegrated into ash, leaving him speechless as he stared at his best friend.

His best friend who was currently breaking into muffled sobs as the dam that she had built through the day finally burst.

But Sherlock was too shocked – too stunned – to do anything about it. His whisper was deadly silent. "What?"

Her words were garbled around her silent sobs. "My-my tri-ial. I, I killed you Sherlock. I killed you."

His breath was non-existent as his mind started to scramble for an answer. "But, but that doesn't make any sense. Jedi don't kill other Jedi."

Her words were a punch to his gut. "You weren't a Jedi."

For the first time in his life, Sherlock found himself unable to breath in the presence of Molly Hooper. But he was left with no time to consider the consequences of such a shift in their relationship, as she was already trying to get out an explanation.

"I don't know why, Sherlock. But you were there, only it wasn't you. You were dressed in black. Your saber was a terrifying crimson. And the hate in your eyes…" She trailed off as sobs wracked her body anew.

That broke Sherlock out of his reverie.

"Hate?" He whispered in alarm, even as his body lunged forward and wrapped his best friend in a protecting embrace. "Molly, I could never hate you. You're everything to me."

"I know," It was her turn to bury herself into his chest. "But it still seemed so real…"

Sherlock shifted, his hand coming up and grabbing the bottom of her chin, angling her face towards his. Although her eyes remained downcast at first, they quickly flitted up to meet his when the tips of their noses brushed.

"You listen to me, Molly Hooper. I will never hate you."

A moment passed between them. Sherlock wanted to add on an expression of just how much he actually loved her in order to reassure her, but something in the air had shifted, and Sherlock somehow knew that if he muttered those simple words they wouldn't hold the simplicity that they usually did. They would mean more.

And Sherlock wasn't sure if he wanted more.

So instead he enfolded her into another embrace and once again murmured, "I will never hate you."

If only he had known that never was an awfully long time.

And that he would fail to keep that promise.

/

Time passed. Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and months turned into years. Although Sherlock still struggled with the darkness, he learned to connect with the light.

He meditated on his crystal and within the week had built his very first lightsaber. It wasn't a pretty handle like Molly's hand etched one, nor was it sleek like Moriarty's. Rather, his was a chaotic mesh of different metals and textures which, when together, seemed to reflect his eccentricities well.

He was chosen to be Lestrade's padawan. Unsurprising, really, considering their close relationship. Nonetheless, it earned him a few more dirty looks from the other padawans as he was chosen by the legendary Master Lestrade.

Molly became Master Artelle's padawan. A fitting choice for her personality.

After the incident in the caves on Ilum, Sherlock found his whole perspective of his best friend changing. She was everything to him. His friend. His faith. His confidant. Not even his trust in Master Lestrade could rival his trust in Molly.

It was as though she filled the gap that his brother had left behind.

Only she was also something more.

At fourteen, however, Sherlock wasn't entirely sure of what more consisted of. He figured that it had something to do with the strange twisting feeling he got deep in the pit of his stomach every time Molly so much as smiled in his direction, but he was hesitant to admit it.

Well, to be honest, he was down-right terrified to admit it.

Which was why he had learned how to do such a good job ignoring it.

He didn't know how Molly would react. Heck he wasn't even sure how he wanted her to react. After all, he wasn't entirely sure of his feelings himself.

What if it was just constant indigestion?

Now that would be embarrassing.

And so, Sherlock kept all revelations concerning his feelings and his friendship with Molly Hooper completely under wraps. It was for the best anyways – as they got older the Masters were becoming ever more watchful.

After all, relationships and personal attachments were dangerous as a Jedi, as their classes were beginning to emphasis more and more. Sherlock knew that he was watched like a hawk. Despite the fact that he rarely had fits of passion anymore and that he could control his usage of the Force to a fairly impressive extent, he was still an outcast.

He was still a child of the darkness.

And in the eyes of the Jedi a child of darkness was as good as a Sith.

While the other students had taken to mocking and taunting, and the Masters had grown weary of his antics with time, there was still an underlying current of fear in their interactions with him. A silent 'what if' that haunted every interaction.

Even Lestrade, who had sort of filled the role of father for him, couldn't hide the tinge of fear in his eyes every time Sherlock lost control.

It didn't bother Sherlock as much as he would've thought though. After all, he still had Molly.

/

Energy crackled and sabers clashed.

Cheers went up from the other students onlooking. Predictably, very few of those cheers were for Sherlock.

"You got him now Molls!" Sally Donovon whooped out excitedly from the throng. "Show the Freak that you're better than him!"

Despite the fact that the majority of his focus was going into ensuring that Molly's saber steered clear away from his flesh, a small part of Sherlock's mind noted the slightest downturn of Molly's lips as she parried his attack. Although Sherlock had given up on being offended by the name calling years prior, Molly never seemed to get over hearing others spit upon his name.

As the cheering continued in the summer heat, Sherlock let his mind wonder as his body instinctively blocked Molly's attacks. Despite her natural prowess with the Force, Molly didn't stand a chance against Sherlock's physical advantage. Right after his sixteenth birthday he had hit a growth spurt during the spring, and now his lanky body towered nearly a foot over her diminutive stature.

He never failed to bring it to her attention, to her ever-lasting annoyance.

On the Brightside, his growth spurt had resulted in Lestrade finally deeming Sherlock ready for an adult-sized cot, meaning that he and Molly were at least a tad more comfortable.

On the downside, he was still unused to the extra six inches, resulting in his overall judgement still being a bit… off.

That was demonstrated thoroughly as he mis-judged the distance he needed to duck away from one of Molly's wide-arc slashes, resulting in several black locks tumbling to the ground from the top of his head.

The cheering became crazier as both Molly and Sherlock froze, their eyes trained on the tufts of hair as they lazily drifted to the ground.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes as his left hand quickly brushed over the top of his head, feeling the patch of hair that was significantly shorter than the rest, and still warm from being singed off with a lightsaber.

Although Molly looked slightly sorry, she was unmistakeably trying not to giggle at the same time. Her grip faltered on her lightsaber as her focus drifted.

Within moments, Sherlock (minus the top two inches of his hair) was holding his lightsaber in his right hand, with Molly's in his left. He had the light cerulean and veridian blades crossed about three inches from her neck, with he himself standing much closer than was safe in such a position, their bodies nearly flushed save for the lightsabers between them.

The crowd had gone silent in shock at the speed with which Sherlock had disarmed Molly.

"I hope you know that you're going to pay for that," The lowered timber of Sherlock's voice ensured that none but Molly heard.

Breathing slightly heavy, Molly had the audacity to quirk a brow. "I'd like to see you try."

Before Sherlock could respond (or act upon any stupid impulses he was most certainly not feeling), Master Lestrade interrupted the silence of the onlookers.

"Alright, that's a match. Well done you two, Anderson, Moriarty, you're up!"

As the other students shook off their shock and began grumbling about how Sherlock must've cheated, Sherlock deactivated both lightsabers. He smirked as he flipped Molly's in the air and caught it, before offering the handle end to her. "Hooper," His breath was still low, and he found himself wishing that they didn't have an audience.

"Holmes," She smirked back in good fun, before grabbing the proffered handle, and turning on her heel out of the ring. "Next time," She promised over her shoulder.

Sherlock was all but pushed to the other end of the ring as Anderson took his place, but his eyes still followed Molly's figure as she went to find herself a place, even as the following match began.

Despite being out of ear-shot, he found himself murmuring in response, "Looking forward to it, Molly Hooper."

/

"I think you've put on weight."

The response was a sharp bounce which did nothing more than dig Sherlock's ribs uncomfortably into the hard earth. Eyes distracted from the tome that he was reading, he attempted to twist his body to tell his best friend off, but the awkward position in which she was sitting on his back prevented him from doing much more than turning his neck to glare over his shoulder.

"I know for a fact that you can successfully keep your body levitated for seventy-three minutes continuous, so I believe that I have the right to know why you're choosing to ram your bony butt into my backside instead," His words were slightly clipped with annoyance.

Molly didn't respond.

Sherlock's annoyance grew.

It wasn't often that Molly drew Sherlock's temper. At seventeen, he usually found himself battling other emotions when it came to his best friend, but rarely did he ever feel like losing his temper with her.

Today was proving to be an exception.

Sherlock snapped the tome shut with more force than was necessary. Molly had always had the bad habit of sprawling everywhere, and generally Sherlock didn't mind – but usually she knew better than to bug him when he was attempting to concentrate on something.

"You have less than three seconds to move before I Force move you." His neck was starting to cramp from the awkward angle, and he had become painfully aware of the few rocks digging into his stomach.

He had been reading about some Jedi lore and the differences between the different sides of the Force and what constituted as light and dark. While he would never dream of going near the dark side willingly with even a ten-foot pole, it was still useful to know the extent that could be achieved, and more importantly how to combat such extents.

Molly, however, was currently interrupting his research session.

When she still didn't move after his warning, Sherlock finally snapped: "Molly I'm serious. I'm trying to read."

In response he heard a sniffle.

Sherlock reacted before he even knew what he was doing. Using the Force, he lifted Molly's body just enough to allow himself to quickly turn around and sit up, the book left forgotten behind him as he maneuvered Molly onto his lap and into his arms. She was looking out into the woods, her face fixed into a neutrally determined expression.

It was the tears streaking down her cheeks that gave it away though.

Sherlock immediately saw red. "Molly, you need to tell me right now what happened and who I have to beat the sithspit out of or you and I both know that I will do something dangerous."

Molly blinked. "It's nothing Sherlock."

"Like hell it's nothing," Sherlock all but growled, his hands tightening around her shoulders. "What happened?"

Chocolate eyes met ice blue.

Then:

"What do you do when you find out something utterly horrid, and are helpless to change anything?"

Sherlock blinked twice. Such a question was the last thing he was expecting out of his obviously distraught friend, and he was unsure of where to go with such a line of enquiry. He started by softening his grip on her shoulders until it became more of a caress than anything.

He lowered his voice out of an urgent tone into one more of caution. "What are you talking about?"

Her eyes skittered away from his once again, their unfocused gaze settling once again on the copse of trees behind him. Her voice dropped to a heavy whisper. "I, I can't tell you."

Sherlock was struck with a sick twist in his gut. "What?"

Molly suddenly wrapped her arms around his torso, catching him off-guard as her nose buried itself into the crook of his neck, rubbing gently across his collarbone.

Sherlock's body stiffened, even as his arms naturally came around Molly's own trembling frame. He had to ignore the swirl of something that was spiking in his chest, and filtering throughout the rest of him.

"I can't tell you, S'lock." A sniffle interrupted his name in her mouth. "I can't tell you, because I love you."

Sherlock lost his breath.

He knew – he knew – that she meant it platonically. They had been telling each other that they loved the other for a long while now, though Sherlock couldn't actually pin-point the date that the easy interchange had begun. It just sort of happened, and now it simply was. It was usual, expected even. Molly Hooper loved Sherlock Holmes, and Sherlock Holmes loved Molly Hooper.

But sometimes, Sherlock Holmes thought that he loved Molly Hooper.

He was beginning to realize that there was a difference between the two phrases.

However, he also recognized the immense danger that came with such a treacherous feeling. Danger that came in two formats: external and internal.

The external danger would come from the Jedi Academy – the rules were strict, and to veer from them was unfathomable. A Jedi mustn't be distracted. Thus, any distraction could not be tolerated – especially those of a romantic nature.

To intend to pursue something with Molly…

Well, then there was the internal danger to contend with.

Internal danger because hell if he would EVER risk losing her place in his life. She had come to encapsulate his entire meaning of existence, and to fathom a life without her was to enact nothing more than self-flagellation. The thought of no more smiles, no more inside jokes, no more light in the night…

It was enough to hold Sherlock back from even the thought of toeing such a precarious line.

And so, although Sherlock thought that he could detect the faintest traces of something lurking in Molly's innocent I love you, he still couldn't bring himself to reiterate the words to her in return. Because even as his ears burned red, he didn't have the courage to pursue such a vein of thought.

In the end, he opted to simply hold her tighter, the two of them grasping at the other in tense silence as the minutes turned into hours. So caught up was he in his own thoughts from her declaration, that he failed to notice his lack of insistence upon the cause of her distress.

Thus, Sherlock Holmes never found out why Molly Hooper was crying that day.

And by the time he would, it would be too late.

/

"Ugh, why did you insist on trekking through the woods on the hottest day of the year again?" Molly's incessant whine disturbed the thick silence as she wiped her brow for the umpteenth time in the hour.

Sherlock himself was struggling to regulate his body temperature, and the way that the hair at the nape of his neck was beginning to stick to his skin was truly trying his patience.

"I told you," He replied through gritted teeth as he sliced through a curtain of vines with his lightsaber, "I read in the archives about a supposition of an unidentified crimson flower that supposedly has only been sighted on this planet during periods of intense heat. If it exists, then I need it for my collection."

"Of course you do," He heard Molly grumble from behind him. "Because system forbid you collect something simple like rocks."

Sherlock casted a confused glance over his shoulder. "Why would I collect rocks? They're an inanimate object, and even Anderson would be able to-"

"I know why you don't collect rocks," Molly huffed out in annoyance behind him. "It was sarcasm."

Sherlock hmphed. "Well, you didn't have to come if you didn't want to."

"Please," He caught the sound of Molly accidently stumbling, and he found himself reaching out naturally with the Force to steady her. He didn't even need to look – after all, she was a constant in his Force-eye, almost as though she was an extension of his own being. "Thanks," Molly huffed out grudgingly, "But as I was saying, it was either this, or get stuck with the meditation drills Master Artelle left me for the day. It wasn't exactly a difficult choice."

Sherlock had to agree. He generally tried to find every excuse possible to avoid meditation, but Master Lestrade was adamant about it. Said that it was important for Sherlock to constantly strengthen his bond to the light side of the Force, lest he risk a regression.

It made the young man scowl, but he couldn't exactly argue.

His padawan braid hung just past his rib cage now, a stark contrast to the rest of his curly, three-inch long hair. Molly's was the same length, though the rest of her hair wasn't far behind – today she wore it down with only the upper-most part pulled back and in a bun. Sherlock thought that it suited her well.

As grateful as he was for his chance to be Master Lestrade's padawan though, he'd be lying if he said that he begrudged the status that the braid bestowed upon him at times. He was nineteen, and undoubtedly the most powerful Force user at the Academy out of all the students. Plus, he had finally attained what he had always sought, control.

Sometimes, he couldn't help but feel that Lestrade was holding him back from the final Jedi Knight trials because he was scared. Scared that Sherlock would relapse or drown in the dark side. Scared of what he would become without a leash to tether him.

Most days, Sherlock couldn't help but agree. He still couldn't manage a wink of peaceful rest if Molly wasn't by his side, and he had to focus twice as hard as the other padawans to ensure that he only tapped into the light side of the Force during training.

But that didn't mean that he wasn't frustrated at times.

His musings were cut off as the ground gave way beneath his feet, and his stomach jumped into his throat in surprise. He was vaguely aware of Molly's panicked "Sherlock!" as she grabbed onto his arm in order to try and ground him, but despite his lean build his body mass was still too much for his petite friend, and she ended up tumbling into the abyss right along with him.

They landed in a tangle of limbs in the dark, with only faint streaks of light making it through the hole that they had fell through. Sherlock gasped as the air was knocked out of his lungs, and he heard Molly groan.

"Are you okay?" He managed between coughs, the dust from the passageway unsettled due to their eventful entrance.

Molly ignored his question in favour of her own. "Where are we?"

Once he was content that Molly wasn't in any state of injury, Sherlock allowed his eyes to flicker around the hard-packed tunnel. It wasn't too wide in diameter – Sherlock could probably stretch both hands out wide and brush the edges of the tunnel with his fingertips – though the hole from which they fell remained a solid ten feet above their heads. Both ends disappeared into darkness.

"Must be some kind of burrow. A giant mole's, perhaps? Either way, I wouldn't suggest sticking around to find out," He stated with a tone of finality. "Best way out is probably the way which we came."

At that Molly groaned. It was no secret to Sherlock that one of Molly's least favourite exercises was self-levitation. It was one concept that her light-addled mind couldn't seem to grasp; the idea that she could be weightless, and disobey the force of gravity. Other objects she had no problem moving – Sherlock had been on the wrong end of an annoyed Force-push on one too many occasions to dissuade such a notion. And yet, when it came to herself, Molly Hooper acted as though she was unmoveable; though in all fairness, in many ways she was.

"Can't we rest for a bit?" She moaned as she detangled her limbs from his own. "We've been hiking all day."

Sherlock blew his forelock out of his eyes. "Fine. We should be able to tell if anything is heading towards us anyways."

Molly let out another groan, this one in appreciation. They half-hazardly rearranged themselves into an upright position, their shoulders touching as they braced the majority of their weight against the wall to their backs. Molly kept one leg strewn over Sherlock's, but neither teen said anything.

The dust was finally beginning to settle, and in the weak light Sherlock could just make out the shape of their intertwined legs. He caught side of his saber handle a few yards off, and quietly called it to him before clipping it to his belt. They sat in silence for a moment, both adjusting to the situation.

Sherlock was startled by the familiar weight of Molly's head coming to rest upon his shoulder rather suddenly.

"The next free day we get, we're going swimming," She announced definitively. "No trekking. No training. Just you, me, and the beach, got it?"

"Got it," Sherlock complied, though his mind was racing a million miles in another direction. Although he knew that she meant her comment platonically, he couldn't help but wonder what would happen if she didn't. And that thought quickly drew his mind back to what he had conjured between the two of them last time he had been in a cave during his initiate trials…

He shook his head to clear it of the images.

Molly, however, noticed.

She turned her head slightly, so that he could feel the ghost of her breath teasing the outer shell of his ear.

"Are you alright?"

No, he was most certainly not alright.

"Sher-mph!"

Between one breath and the next Sherlock's body decided to betray him. One moment he was attempting to come up with an intelligible response for his concerned best friend, and the next found him snogging said best friend senseless.

Well, snogging being a relative turn.

As Molly lips went to form the name that had passed through them millions of times, Sherlock turned his own head sharply, fumbling to press his lips to hers. He missed initially, catching an awkward combination of her cheek and nose, before re-aligning his mouth to fit more properly over hers.

The first few moments were the most terrifying of his entire life. The thought of failure as a Jedi, the fear of the darkness, of the voice in his head, couldn't even begin to compare with the first few seconds as terror pulsed through Sherlock's very soul, and the desperation that had initially fueled his actions quickly was turning into burning regret.

But then…

Then she kissed him back.

It was shy at first, as though unsure of whether she was caught in reality or some fantastical other dimension. But rather quickly her shyness burned away into a hunger that rivalled Sherlock's own, and he found the two of themselves leaving behind inhibitions as they both sought to sate an undefinable need that they hadn't realized existed.

His fingers twined in her hair, as hers grasped desperately at his tunic. The world around them was a long-forgotten thing, and Sherlock was a little more than annoyed when he was forced to separate from her in order to replenish his air supply.

They panted in the silence, foreheads sticky with sweat as they pressed them against each other's, noses rubbing with each greedy inhale. Something burned in the pit of Sherlock's stomach, and for the first time in his life he wanted to encourage it more than anything.

It didn't terrify him

It excited him.

For the first time in his life, Sherlock felt complete. He felt whole in a way that he hadn't known that he was missing, and the world was perfect. The world was…

The world was shaking.

As though the thought was shared between the two of them, both Molly and Sherlock's eyes snapped open (When had he closed them?) and they pulled their hands away from each other in order to place them on the most-definitely vibrating ground.

The mole.

Sherlock grimaced. "We need to go now."

Molly's lips were swollen. "Not going to argue," Her voice was still slightly breathy.

Without a word both padawans jumped from the tunnel, leaving a shower of dirt in their wake as they resurfaced from the crumbling ground. Without looking back, Sherlock grabbed Molly's hand and started running back the way they came, wanting to get as far away from the vicinity of the creature in case it had caught onto their scent. Molly seemed to have the same idea, as she brokered no argument.

Neither stopped for breath.

By the time they broke through the treeline back onto Academy grounds, they were all but reeling from the adrenaline rush, caught up in the excitement.

They forgot to pause for breath in the woods.

And thus, they realized too late as Master Lestrade motioned them over once he caught sight of them, that they had lost their chance to discuss the kiss.

/

Sherlock felt sick.

Lestrade was feeling frustrated.

"What's gotten into you?" The older man finally let out a frustrated huff. "It's as though this entire week you've forgotten everything I've taught you."

They were training on a cliffside a little ways off from the Academy, Lestrade having hoped that the change in scenery would get his padawan out of the funk he seemed to have been stuck in for the last week. Unfortunately for both parties, his efforts were doing little to rectify the situation.

Sherlock flicked his lightsaber off with a frustrated huff of his own. "Nothing."

Cue Lestrade's eyebrows of disbelief. The older man had learned to see past Sherlock's outer façade years prior – they wouldn't have worked so well as padawan and master had he not.

When Sherlock refused to elaborate, the older man turned his own lightsaber off with an air of understanding. "You had a fight with Molly, didn't you?"

Sherlock didn't reply, merely turning his back to his master and plunking his butt onto the ground in a petulant manner. The last thing he was going to do was talk to Lestrade about the situation.

It had been just over eight days since he and Molly had crossed the uncrossable line in the woods, and Sherlock was an absolute mess. They had barely spoken more than two words to each other, and more often than not Sherlock had to flee from her presence lest the redness of his ears reveal their actions to all.

It was disconcerting.

After they had left the woods, it had just become harder and harder to bring the subject up. Her immediate shyness around him had put him off, and for the first time in his life he had been unsure in regards to Molly Hooper.

Thus, he had left it to her to broach the subject.

Only she didn't.

And now, eight days later, Sherlock was going absolutely insane. For the first time that he could remember, the madness wasn't stemming from the darkness. Rather, it was stemming from the light.

They still slept together every night. Only it wasn't the same as their casual closeness. Rather, it was as though they were hyper-aware of the other person, and they stayed uncomfortably stiff in order to avoid accidently brushing against the other.

Sherlock missed the constant contact from his best friend.

Only, she wasn't just his best friend anymore.

She was now also something that he craved. Something he needed. Something he wanted.

The thought didn't terrify him as much as it used to.

However, it was that very fact that was causing the most tension between the two. Sherlock wasn't really sure when it had started. Perhaps the day after? Two? Three? All he knew was that one moment he was blushing around her because he was embarrassed of their actions, and the next he was blushing because he wanted more.

He didn't know how she felt – both of them had shrouded the other from the Force, and though he could still locate her, her essence was muted and the normally vibrant emotions were blurred.

He wasn't about to complain though. He wasn't sure what he'd do if she ever found out about the thoughts racing through his head whenever he thought about her now.

The others had begun to notice around the fourth day. The fact that Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper were no longer conjoined at the hip was a fairly obvious sign that something was askew. That, plus the fact that all the students had been in the courtyard that evening and Molly and Sherlock had walked right past one another without even making eye contact very quickly started the rumour mill.

Apparently, he had finally unleashed his darkness upon her, and she was now trying to do what everyone else had done years ago, which was get as far away as possible.

(Oh, he certainly wanted to unleash some darkness upon her, but not in the manner that the others had presumed.)

Others stated that he had cut her off for trying to make friends with other students, resulting in a huge argument and a division of the undividable.

(That was ridiculous. Why would she even want to make friends with others in the first place?)

And yet others claimed that Sherlock had finally lost it and was the one pushing her away. That one Sherlock like to scoff at the most. As if he wanted to create any distance between himself and Molly.

Thankfully though, none of them were even close to the truth, which Sherlock had to begrudgingly admit was a small mercy.

His contemplation was broken as he felt Lestrade rest a hand on his shoulder, and then use his frame to help lower himself into a sitting position beside Sherlock. Even sitting, Sherlock was now several inches taller than the man that he had come to view as a father.

For a moment they sat in silence, listening to the small sounds of nature. Slowly, Sherlock felt his frustrations and tensions ease out of his body, until he was simply feeling weary.

He missed his best friend, and he wanted her back, even if that meant he had to put aside his newfound desires.

Lestrade's voice broke the silence. "Being a Jedi is hard, Sherlock. For you more than most. Relationships can be difficult, especially when we let them be muddled by emotions-" For a moment Sherlock panicked, thinking Lestrade had guessed which emotions he was currently struggling with. Lestrade must have noted it, because he gave a reassuring squeeze to the younger man's shoulder. "Don't fret, I know you still struggle with anger. I resigned myself to your strong emotions long ago."

Sherlock didn't know whether to let out a sigh of relief, or stare at the old man gobsmacked. His master thought that he was mad at Molly? What an absurd idea – she was the last person his anger would ever be fully directed towards.

Then again, anger would get less of a lecture from Lestrade than love.

Sherlock pursed his lips and didn't respond.

"The thing with being a Jedi, Sherlock," The bumbling old man continued, "Is that while you will always feel your emotions, you need to learn to put them aside for the greater good. Anger is dangerous and will lead you down a dark path that I know you've fought to refrain from for years. So don't give into it. Talk to Molly. Sort out your differences. But don't allow your judgement to become clouded by your emotions."

When Sherlock didn't reply, Lestrade gave a soft expectant sigh, before rising to his feet.

"Consider what I've said, Sherlock. Though in the end I know you'll make the right decision. Come back when you're ready." And with that Lestrade was gone, leaving Sherlock alone with his thoughts.

Perhaps Lestrade should've stayed a while longer, probed deeper into Sherlock's emotions. Had he, perhaps he could've swayed the young man just a little more.

Because ultimately, Sherlock would make a decision.

Unfortunately, it would be the wrong one.

/

"Is that all you got, Holmes?" The reptilian voice made Sherlock's blood run cold, even as a drip of sweat threatened to fall from his brow. He felt a flash of irritation go through him – without Molly by his side, they were almost constant now, and nearly anything could set them off.

Especially confrontations with Moriarty.

Unfortunately, this confrontation was a required training fight, and while most of the students were currently in their own classes therefore limiting the spectators, quite a few of the Masters had just so happened to be 'strolling' by and decided to watch. Then there were the other handful of ingrates in his class – Anderson, Donovan, Dimmock, and several others who Sherlock had never bothered to meet properly. And Molly, of course.

She was sitting in the back corner, attempting a pitiful conversation with a Twi'lek girl who was more or less just looking at Molly pityingly.

She really was a sorry sight – neither of them could really sleep anymore, rather laying side by side in tense silence throughout the evenings. If Sherlock wasn't so selfish, he would tell her to just stay in her own room so that she could sleep in comfort.

However, Sherlock was always selfish. Thus explaining the alarmingly dark circles under both of their eyes.

While Sherlock had always been somewhat gaunt and skeletal-ish though, the evidence of their strained friendship was much more evident on Molly. Her cheekbones were more pronounced, and her robes were ever so slightly too large for her frame now. He wanted nothing more than to steal her away and nurse her back to health.

A down slash from Moriarty's light saber drew Sherlock's scattered attention back to the current fight. He quickly blocked before retaliating with a side-arc of his own. His eyes drifted back to Molly.

Jim noticed.

The other young man smirked. "Such a shame, the two of you falling out," Each word was a nail in the other boy's coffin.

"It's none of your business," Sherlock tried to fight away a stab of darkness while at the same time parrying yet another attack from Moriarty. The darkness was undoubtedly stronger since his connection with Molly had become strained during the past two weeks. While the wretched creature from his childhood nightmares had yet to rear its ugly head, he still struggled plenty with the darkness.

Moriarty's quips were not helping.

"You know," He had lowered his voice so that it was only able to slither into Sherlock's hearing. "Perhaps its for the better. After all, now Molly can finally find out what she's been missing out on."

Sherlock wasn't sure if it was the implication that he was lacking something, or that Molly would prefer Moriarty to himself. Either way, something in the other boy's sentence made Sherlock snap.

And he plunged into the darkness.

It was like a tidal wave; Sudden, powerful, and much bigger than one initially thought. In a moment the darkness that Sherlock had floundered in since childhood suddenly turned in his favour and a power that he had never felt before coursed through his veins. He knew everything. He felt everything. He saw everything.

Before Moriarty could even wipe the taunting smirk from his face, Sherlock's lack luster attacks suddenly sharpened with frightening speed. All Sherlock could see was red; Red from his anger at Jim; Red from the blood coursing dangerously through his veins; Red from his passion for Molly.

It was as though he was no longer present in his own body. He didn't see Jim's practice technique turn into panicked defensive strategies. He couldn't hear the gasps of fear go up from around him. He couldn't feel Lestrade's own attempts with the Force to hold him back.

Everything was red.

And he was going to kill Moriarty if it was the last thing he ever did.

He just needed to submit fully to the darkness.

Energy cackled. The air grew thick. With an unnaturally powerful slash he threw Jim's blade from his hand, and without hesitation raised his arm for the final blow-

Only to have Molly Hooper run in front of him.

"Sherlock stop!"

He barely managed to halt his blade in time, the vibrant blue energy humming dangerously close to her ear. She didn't appear fazed though, staring at him steadily despite the tears in her eyes.

"Please, Sherlock," Her voice was a mumbled prayer. "Stop."

The darkness evaporated as though it was never even there to begin with. Crimson vanished from his vision, leaving Sherlock trembling as his eyes tried to focus on the horrible scene before him.

"M-Molly?"

She gave him a shaky smile. "I-It's alright, Sherlock. You're back now."

But it was too late, for his eyes had already confusedly travelled to where the tip of his lightsaber dangled dangerously close to her ear, and time stopped as he witnessed the realization of his worst nightmares.

Molly didn't notice, still smiling, still babbling lies of comfort. Out of habit her hand came up to rest upon his cheek-

Sherlock shuddered away violently, all but flinging his lightsaber away as his body collapsed in the opposite direction of her touch. His heart was pounding, head racing. His sudden movement caused all – Molly included – to flinch, but he took in none of it and all of it.

All he knew was that he had to get away. He had to protect Molly. Even if it was from himself.

The shouts of Lestrade and Molly clamoured over the whispers of fear, but Sherlock ignored them, shutting them out, shutting the world out.

Scenery blurred and colours died. His body was numb and unaware of any other fact other than away.

When he finally did collapse due to the haltering of his chest and a misplacement of the foot which he wasn't even aware of until the world was upside down and the sharpness in the back of his head berated him of his folly, he almost wished that his body would numb itself away in entirety, taking him away from the nightmare of his reality.

One moment his eyes were attempting to grasp the spinning hues of greens and blues from where he laid sprawled in the midst of the woods.

And the next thing that he was aware of was Molly Hooper everywhere, cradling his head, blocking his vision. As he still fought for breath, one thought managed to rear itself in the murky muddle of his mind.

"No," It took a moment for his tongue to move correctly and in sync with his lips, "Molly," He struggled against her grasp, "You need to get away."

In stark contrast to his command, she only pressed her forehead to his own as the tears streamed down his face. "You foolish, foolish man," She whispered as her fingers ghosted through his hair. "I promised I would never leave you."

It was like the first rays of sunlight had pierced through his headache as she tugged gently at the Force, moving it in a way that he had never been able to fathom; bonding with the light to not only move energy, but also replenish it.

As Molly gently Force-healed his injured head, Sherlock's thoughts slowly became clearer as his adrenaline shock wore off. He realized that they were somewhere in the wood, but that he must've ran far because he didn't recognize any of their surroundings.

And there were tears on his cheeks. Tears of regret, and pain, and fear.

"I'm sorry, Molly," He grasped onto her like a drowning man grasping a lifeline. "I'm sorry."

She hushed him with a gentle kiss on the forehead. "There is nothing to apologize for," She insisted. "You didn't hurt me."

"But I almost did." Sherlock jolted himself up to a sitting position, though he nearly instantly regretted it. "And that's all that matters."

"No, it's not," Molly all but tackled him with a growl, pushing herself back onto his lap and grabbing his face once more, though this time with the force necessary to illustrate her frustration with him. "What matters is that you stopped."

With that word, it was as though time itself stood still in the woods. Fierce chocolate eyes latched onto frenzied blue ones, and within the span of a single breath, the rest of the world faded away.

Somehow, Sherlock's lips found their way onto Molly's once again.

This time, however, she dominated the kiss, pouring every inch of her anger, her passion, her soul into it. She refused to allow him to believe for even a second that she wasn't completely and totally his.

They both broke away in order to gasp for air, though Molly's grip on the sides of Sherlock's head didn't loosen in the slightest. At some point during their interlude, Sherlock's hands had planted themselves firmly on her hips, and the space between their bodies had become none existent.

"You listen here, Sherlock Holmes," Molly's voice was slightly breathless, though just as determined sounding as before. "I am never going anywhere because I know that you would never hurt me. We all do terrifying things at times. What's important though is that we rely on those we love to help us get through it rather than pushing them away."

Her words resonated within his chest, and for the first time in weeks he felt a flood of light permeate his very being.

"I love you," He found himself admitting. "And not in the way that a Jedi is supposed to love."

She let out a small hiccup-laugh. "Sherlock, I've loved you that way for longer than I can remember."

At her confession Sherlock found himself breaking into his own fit of giggles, the last of the tension that was in his shoulders draining away. For a blissed moment they simply enjoyed the feeling of once again being in each other's company, and this time knowing that there was more.

It was Molly's question that brought an air of seriousness back around.

"Sherlock, where do we go from here?"

The question gave him pause, but only momentarily. "I don't know," He answered honestly. "But I do know that wherever it is we will do it together. Our friendship is the most important thing to me. But more than anything I do want to explore whatever this is between us. I'm never giving you up, Molly."

At his words, her eyes filled with tears as a smile stretched across her face. "I'm never leaving you either, Sherlock. Even if that means… even if that means giving up being a Jedi."

The thought made Sherlock frown. "What if we didn't have to give up being a Jedi?"

Molly's frown mirrored his. "How? Master Lestrade has been very clear about the matter for as long as I can remember. He says…" Here she hesitated. "He says that it will lead to the dark side."

That made Sherlock's lips twist. "I don't see how. If we've proved anything, it's that I'm more prone to the dark side when I'm without your presence. Molly, when we kissed just now, I felt for the first time in my life as though I was completely good. That I could actually fully renounce the darkness and be the Jedi you think I could be."

"You are good," Molly insisted. "But… I do understand."

Sherlock bit his lip. "So… what if we simply didn't tell anyone."

The thought made Molly's eyebrows shoot up. "Like keep it a secret?"

A nonchalant shrug from Sherlock. "We've kept a ton of other things a secret. I can't see how this would be any more difficult. We could continue with our training, become fully fledged Jedi, and still be with each other. Besides, we only have a couple more years at most here at the Academy, before we achieve knighthood and receive our assignments. Once that happens we'll be out of the watchful eye of the Academy anyways."

He could see the wheels turning in her mind as she mulled the idea over. It was risky, they were both aware of that. If anyone ever found out the extent of their relationship… well, being kicked out of the Academy would be the best possible scenario. That said though, the likelihood of being caught out was slim – the other students let them be, and the Masters were all too content to leave Sherlock to Lestrade.

Plus, they had been hiding the fact that Molly snuck into his quarters every night after curfew for the past twelve years. Surely hiding a relationship couldn't be any harder.

With his own mind made up, Sherlock couldn't help the grin that spread across his face when Molly nodded her agreement.

"Okay." Her own smile flickered onto her face, as her hand intertwined with his. "Okay."

/

Something had changed between them in the Force.

It had already been several months since they had started their illicit dalliance when Sherlock initially noticed it. The moment of enlightenment had actually come during an exercise with Lestrade. It was confusing, but not exactly something he could ask his Master about.

"We're going to work on finessing your finite use of the Force, Sherlock," The older man had said one day. "I want you to spend the day turned inward – walk the Force. Examine where your strengths lie. See how many signatures you can recognize. I have several tasks to take care of this morning, but will check back in on you at lunch, alright?"

With that Sherlock was literally left to his thoughts, doing his best to suppress his boredom. He spent more time Force-walking than Lestrade knew – it was really all he did in the early mornings after Molly would leave him.

Obediently (but still somewhat discontentedly), Sherlock dropped down into his familiar concentration pose, before delving into the Force. Over the years what had initially been impossible had come to be like breathing. Between one heartbeat and the next Sherlock fell into the vast netherworld of constant energy…

…Where everything was just as he saw it that morning.

With a sigh of frustration, Sherlock began sifting through familiar threads. Lestrade, Anderson, Donovan, Moriarty. He flicked nonchalantly over fellow students and Masters, some with connections weaker than others to the Force.

It was pointless.

Holding back his frustration lest he slip from the realm, Sherlock decided to do something different.

He found Molly.

Only, he dug for the Molly that both he and her had done their best to hide. When they had been about twelve, some sort of connection had tethered between them in the Force. At the time they had been worried that if others found out about it they'd learn about their secret evening rendezvous, so they had delved into the Jedi texts and taught themselves how to completely cloak something from other Force users. Ever since, the signature that Molly and Sherlock both emitted on the Force plane appeared normal, and it was only by looking in the right places that someone could tell otherwise.

It had been a while since he had peeked at their connection, so with curious fingers he navigated the energy. But what he saw confused him to no end.

Gone was the simple connection that allowed him to easily locate her no matter where she was. In its place, however, was something much more complex. It was almost as though the connection had grown into some form of a bond that had turned their separate selves into a single entity. When looking at himself and Molly without the cloak, it was near impossible to tell where one began and the other ended.

He had never seen such a thing before.

His own Force signature still was threaded with inevitable swirls of darkness, but with the bond it was as though that was null and void. For now it appeared that they weren't just connected to the light.

Rather, together they radiated light.

It was a perplexing conundrum, and one which Sherlock found himself wishing he could talk with his Master about. Alas, as that wasn't an option, Sherlock found himself merely re-hiding his discovery and continuing about his usual tasks.

When Lestrade later asked what he had learned, he gave the response he always gave: "There's still darkness."

Lestrade merely gave his padawan a sad smile. "Truth be told, I believe you'll always have darkness. But that doesn't mean you can't connect with the light. You're a great padawan, Sherlock. And that's because you're a good person. Just never forget that and you won't go astray."

Sherlock had merely nodded, his mind still racing a mile a minute from his discovery.

"A good person," He murmured. "I can be a good person."

/

Sherlock felt a spike of fear and absolute panic shoot through him.

The feeling was so sudden that he accidently dropped the book that he had been reading, resulting in a loud clatter which earned him a glare from the Master looking over the library.

He couldn't care less though.

For his chest was aching in phantom fear and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't seem to catch a breath in his lungs.

Something was wrong with Molly. Without waiting for the inevitable scolding for dropping the tome, Sherlock dashed upright and out the door. Ignoring the startled looks (and unimpressed glares) from those around him, his legs rushed him to Molly's quarters where he simply knew she was.

Completely ignoring protocol, he Force-opened her door, uncaring that he was breaking the rules if it meant that Molly was in danger. Lightsaber flying to his hand, he burst into her quarters, electric blue light reflecting the crazed panic in his eyes.

"What's wrong?" His baritone bellowed.

There was no enemy in sight, no danger at hand. Rather, he was faced with none other than Molly Hooper standing on a stool and pressed against the wall, looking like she desired nothing more than for her body to sink into the stone.

On the floor in front of her, she was looking in absolute horror at a pebble-sized spider.

It took a moment for Sherlock's mind to realize that his best friend wasn't in mortal danger. When he did, and the panic suddenly disappeared from his system, he was less than impressed.

"Really Molly?" He snapped his lightsaber off with an annoyed flick. "I thought you were in danger!"

Molly finally pried her terrified gaze away from the creature on her floor. When her eyes landed on Sherlock, they hardened slightly in a defensive glare. "Shut-up Sherlock and just get it out of here already!"

He rolled his eyes, but he was already moving the spider out of the window and latching it firmly behind the creature. He returned his unimpressed gaze to Molly.

"Try remembering to shut your window next time. Besides, how can you be nearly ready for your trials and yet be so terrified of such a small creature?" He couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. "I thought you mastered your fear of spiders years ago."

Molly upturned her nose in offense and crossed her arms. As she was still standing on the stool her eyes were almost level with Sherlock's own.

"Oh hush, you. I'm generally fine with them, when I'm expecting them. That one came out of nowhere and startled me. Besides, even in my shock it wasn't like I broadcasted my panic across the Force. I still know how to internalize, thank you very much."

Sherlock's brow crinkled. "What are you talking about? I felt you. That's how I knew you were panicking."

It was time for Molly's brows to scrunch in confusion. "That's not possible. At most I broadcasted a mild shock. Everything else was internalized."

"You must be mistaken. I-" Sherlock cut himself off as his eyes widened in realization. "Oh."

"Oh?" Molly was still looking at him in confusion. "What do you mean, oh? What's going on Sherlock?"

The man in question blinked a couple times in order to bring his wandering mind back to the present. "Yesterday Lestrade had me walk the Force plane. Out of curiosity I peeled away our cloaking to examine our connection. Only, it's not just a connection anymore. It was as if… as if we're bonded."

Molly blinked. "Bonded?"

Sherlock nodded, his mind once again racing. "It's what I was reading up on before you had your little panic attack. Apparently – though it's fairly rare – it's possible for two entities to Force-bond if they're especially compatible. They basically begin to share the same Force signature, and have a deeper understanding of each other because of it. There's not much in the way of details documented, but from what I've gathered it appears that this is what has happened to us."

"So…" Molly trailed off as she tried to wrap her head around the idea. "You not only pick up what I broadcast then, but you also can literally feel what I'm feeling."

"It would appear so," Sherlock agreed. "We likely will also have no problem communicating with each other no matter where we are I'd suspect."

"Huh." Molly frowned slightly. "I suppose that'll be useful."

Sherlock nodded, finally stepping away from her once he realized that he had left her door ajar and that anyone could walk by at any moment. "Yes it will be. Anyways, I need to return to my studies lest someone notify Lestrade. Try not to be frightened by any more spiders."

He had to dodge the pillow that flew at his head as he quickly stepped out of her room with a smile.

/

"Do you ever feel the darkness anymore, Sherlock?"

The question startled him out of his drowsy musings. It was well past midnight, though Sherlock hadn't been able to sleep. He suspected it had something to do with an herbal experiment that he had conducted earlier in the day which had gone a little awry. The flower he had been crushing was known for its ability to fight off sleep for hours, and Sherlock had unfortunately taken an accidental snort of the pollen.

He could already tell that he'd deeply regret it in the morning.

Molly on the other hand had had no issue falling asleep, cuddling into his side and tangling their bodies in the sheets. Sherlock hadn't minded, using the rare opportunity to card his fingers through her hair and enjoy the feeling of her breath against his collarbone. He hadn't notice when she had roused though.

Her question startled him a bit. "No, actually. I haven't felt the darkness since that day with Moriarty."

She hummed against his skin, sending sparks throughout his body. "That's good. And the creature?"

At that Sherlock became concerned. "I haven't actually thought of it since my padawan initiate trials. Why? What's with the sudden concern?"

He thought he felt something reverberate in Molly's chest, but it was so fleeting that he was unable to pin down the emotion. "No reason specifically. Just curious if our Force bond somehow protected you from the darkness or something."

That was certainly a thought. It had been nearly a year since Sherlock had discovered their bond, and while they had certainly discovered many a useful thing, he was still hesitant to say that they knew exactly what it was and what it allowed them to do.

"I'm not sure," He finally admitted. "But as long as I have you with me I suppose it doesn't really matter."

He felt her lips smile against his skin. "And you're never getting rid of me, Sherlock Holmes."

"Excellent," He smiled himself, before tenderly maneuvering his head so as to press his lips against her hairline. "Because I never plan to let you go."

/

"…You must be prepared mentally as well as physically…"

Sherlock fought off a groan as Master Tyrrell dallied on about what the padawans could expect from their final trials into Jedi Knighthood. While he understood the importance of the lecture – his group was to go through the trials in a week's time after all – he still couldn't avoid the sheer fact that he was bored.

He had been listening to Masters drill on about the importance of the trials for years. He honestly couldn't see why they felt like they had to keep harping on the matter. Either the students got it or they didn't, and at this point of the game it was pretty obvious if they were going to pass their trials or not.

You could at least pretend like you're interested and not about to fall asleep.

The voice nearly jolted him out of his chair. At the startled clatter the Master shot a glare over to him, but Sherlock feigned dropping his book to cover up his actions with only years of practice masking his surprise.

Well, that wasn't quite what I had in mind.

It took all of Sherlock's willpower to refrain from sending Molly a murder glare from over his shoulder. He could still feel the burn of curious eyes on him, so it was only once the lingering attention dispersed that Sherlock immediately focused his thoughts inwards.

Not funny, Molly.

His chest rumbled with the echoes of her laughter.

On the contrary, He could feel her mirth as though it was his own, That was very funny.

I hate you.

No you don't – you love me.

Sherlock couldn't help the twitch of his lips at that, the warmth in his chest too much to fully conceal physically.

That I do, He knew she'd be able to sense his smile, even though she was seated behind him. That I do.

/

There were fingerprints on the threads hiding their Force-bond.

Sherlock frowned. That was odd. He never left fingerprints when he brushed against their Force essences – he was much too paranoid about Master Lestrade discovering it to be that careless. Nonetheless however, there was definitely something infinitely different.

Perhaps Molly had been in a rush, he reasoned, still vaguely uneasy about the concept but seeing no other explanation. Yes, that had to be it.

The feeling of familiar fingers carding through his hair on the physical plane snapped him from his musings and concentration.

Without a glance back, he mentally returned himself to the stone on which he was sitting and the wonderful woman whom he loved, fingerprints and concerns forgotten.

In the end, such a lapse of judgement on Sherlock's normally perceptive part would be their undoing.

But at the moment it didn't matter.

For in a universe in which things are not meant to be, Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper could enjoy a small bit of happiness, even if, unbeknownst to them, it would be their last for years to come.

/

Sherlock didn't even try to hide the smile that stretched onto his face as his eyes pried themselves open. The stone that he had been meditating on for the past hour was quickly losing its heat in the dying sunlight, but the breeze was still warm enough to be more than comfortable. It rustled the grass around him, and bent the boughs of the ancient trees that surrounded the small glade.

"I figured I'd find you out here," Molly's hand never parted from his hair as she made herself comfortable beside him, nudging him over slightly in the process.

"Did you?" He let his contentment slip into his tone as he greeted her with a kiss to her cheek. He naturally angled his body so that hers could slide even closer. These were the moments he loved the most – the stolen ones away from the prying and judging eyes of others. The moments when they weren't almost-Jedi and nothing more than friends.

The moments when he was just Sherlock, and could openly love his Molly.

She responded to his simple affections by nuzzling herself into his arms which had at some point wrapped around her petite frame. Hidden in the woods, it was almost as though the rest of the world no longer existed.

"Are you ready for tomorrow?" Her voice was gentle, matching the quietness of the glade around them.

He hummed his confirmation into her hair. "As ready as I'll ever be."

"To think," He could feel her buzz of excitement. "After tomorrow we will be actual Jedi Knights. No more Academy. No more boring meditation drills."

Sherlock quirked a brow at that. "I'm fairly certain that boring meditation drills will always come with the territory of being a Jedi."

"Still," She huffed, nudging his side with good-natured annoyance. "You know what I mean. And most importantly, there'll be no more people."

Although nothing was official, Master Lestrade had implied to Sherlock that one of the assignments that would be given out to the graduates of tomorrow's trials was a partnership recruiting assignment near the Outer Rim and that Sherlock and Molly were the prime candidates.

Life was finally aligning perfectly.

Molly was still rambling in contented bliss. "…And although we'll have to return occasionally to deliver the new recruits of course, we'll still be largely independent-"

Sherlock cut her off by placing his lips on hers in a way that was so familiar now that he couldn't imagine how he had ever lived without it before. Molly responded in kind, both of them so absorbed in the promises of happiness around the corner that the world all but faded from around them.

Which was why they both startled with shock when a voice interrupted them.

"Oh dear. It appears the worst has come to past."

Both Sherlock and Molly stopped cold at the insidiously familiar voice. It was as though frozen water had splashed down Sherlock's spine and invaded his lungs, making it impossible to move. Molly's paralyzing fear mimicked his own.

"Clearly your padawans have been keeping secrets from you."

At the phrase Sherlock finally wrenched his body from its panic-induced paralysis, his eyes hardening as they locked onto the malicious ones of Jim Moriarty. The other boy had a sick, demented look in his gaze as he smiled upon his prey like a cat who got the cream. Hatred sparked in Sherlock's body.

Hatred, which quickly turned into an oily pit in his stomach as his eyes slid past the hated-boy to land on the two other figures still lingering in shock in the shadows.

The betrayal in Master Lestrade's eyes made Sherlock sick to his stomach, and he knew that Molly was feeling the same under Master Artelle's judgemental look. It was as though the universe had paused momentarily, and Sherlock wilted under the knowledge that the man who had become like a father to him now knew the truth.

"Lestrade," Sherlock tried weakly, unsure of what to say but knowing that something had to be said.

His whisper broke the revelry, as the other three finally broke completely into the clearing as though needing to be closer in order to confirm for themselves the horrid truth of what they were witnessing.

"What have you done?" The shout was more of a whisper as Lestrade's eyes darted frantically between the two of them.

"Lestrade we can explain," Sherlock tried once more to find the words, but was cut off as he felt a will-that-was-not-his Force-wrench him and Molly apart. Sherlock felt a flare of something at the action, but his eyes were still locked on Lestrade's. "I wanted to tell you."

"Tell me?" Lestrade's voice was incredulous and his eyes were wide. "Tell me what, Sherlock?" His voice hardened into something dangerous, something terrifying. "Tell me that you and Molly have decided to surrender to the dark side?"

The accusation was worse than a physical blow. But Sherlock would stand strong even if it meant that he would lose everything else that mattered. "It's not the dark side, Lestrade. It's the light! I'm only strong with the light because of her."

"That's just an illusion, Sherlock. A lie you may tell yourself over and over to hide from the truth," Lestrade was shouting now, angry in a way that Sherlock had never seen before, had never even known the man capable of. It sent fingers of inky fear coursing through Sherlock's veins, and he struggled to hold his own against his Master.

"It's not a lie!" Sherlock bellowed himself, done with the masks and the hidden emotions.

A gleam appeared in Lestrade's eye that Sherlock didn't like one bit, and he hated it even more when Jim once again made his filthy presence known.

"Surely there's a way that we can put all this to right," The boy's slippery voice was in stark contrast to the heated tones that still echoed in the glade. "After all, the trials are tomorrow."

At the word, Lestrade deflated. "The trials," He mimicked, eyes haunted and seeing past Sherlock, seeing through Sherlock. "My God, the trials."

A new kind of fear slithered into the pit of Sherlock's stomach.

"They surely can't take them now," Master Artelle's voice was dubious. Sherlock felt a pang in his gut, and he knew without looking that Molly had wilted under her Master's words.

An idea flickered behind Lestrade's gaze. A crazy idea that stilled the blood in Sherlock's veins before Lestrade ccould even voice it.

"They don't have to take them tomorrow."

Sherlock was aware of Artelle's slight shock at the statement, and Molly's painful blossom of hope. He regarded his Master warily. After all, Jim was still smiling in a disarming fashion.

If Sherlock didn't know Lestrade better, he would almost say that a crazed look had entered the older man's eye, as though he was still in the process of convincing himself of his idea even as he shared it with them.

"They don't have to take the trials tomorrow. We can push Sherlock back. Give him more time to prepare properly."

There was a disturbance in the Force, nudging at Sherlock's mind. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "And Molly?"

Lestrade's crazed look immediately focused into something hard. Sherlock flinched as the look was directed to him, already aware that the answer would be unacceptable.

"Well, she'll have to go of course."

The breath sapped from Sherlock's lungs. Molly voiced his query.

"What?"

Lestrade's eyes swivelled to meet her unbelieving ones. "I'm sorry, Molly. I truly am. But Sherlock is the prerogative. He's too much of a variable to be allowed to exist as anything other than a Jedi where he can be honed to the light. No matter what happens, Sherlock must become a Jedi. Even if that means that sacrifices must be made."

Dread slicked its way through Sherlock's veins. "Lestrade, what madness are you talking about?"

It was Master Artelle that answered though, her voice resigned as though she had always expected this day to come. "Lestrade is right. Your connection to the darkness makes you too dangerous to leave unchecked, Sherlock." She turned herself to Molly. "I'm afraid this is the only way."

Sherlock's panic turned into full-blown fear as Master Artelle began to move towards Molly. His instincts kicking in, he went to put himself between the threat and his best friend-

-Only to find his muscles unresponsive, another Force keeping him at bay.

Something from long ago clawed at the edges of Sherlock's mind, finding purchase the more Sherlock allowed his panic to override his logic.

"Sherlock!" Molly screamed, both mentally and physically as she realized that she too was immobile and at the mercy of those that they had trusted most besides each other.

Master Artelle's voice was haunted as she slowly continued her approach. "I promise you shan't feel any pain, my dear," Her soothing words were like acid eating away at Sherlock's heart. "You won't remember this life, but I will endeavour to create a better one for you."

"Leave her alone!" Sherlock all but begged, struggling against the Forces that bound his own but no where near strong enough to take on his Master. "I'll do whatever needs to be done, just leave her alone!"

Lestrade's eyes were sad. "I'm afraid it's too late for that Sherlock. Much, much too late."

The thing clawing at Sherlock's mind suddenly flooded his veins, but Sherlock was in too much of a state to notice the terrifying familiarity of the darkness and the creature who had haunted his childhood.

I can help you. I can help her.

Sherlock strained but to no avail. Tears were streaming down his face. Lestrade was right – the darkness had been there all along. Sherlock had merely managed to fool himself into believing that it was gone, that he could be good, that he could be a Jedi.

Artelle was almost upon Molly, her hands reached out towards the girl's temples. Molly was crying and begging her Master to stop but, in the end, she was just as powerless as Sherlock was.

You could protect her if you let me in.

"Stop it!" Sherlock yelled, though whether he was yelling at Lestrade and Artelle or the thing in his head he was unsure. His vision was going red and the rest of the world was beginning to fade away, leaving Sherlock aware of nothing more than his absolute hatred of the one he had thought of as a father.

How dare they try to take Molly away from him.

Lestrade's betrayal cut deeper than Sherlock could've ever imagined. The older man had been the first one to take Sherlock in after he had lost his family, the first person to make Sherlock feel safe again. He was the one who had believed that Sherlock was more than the darkness.

But apparently that was all a lie.

For clearly Lestrade never believed in Sherlock. Not truly. Not when it mattered most.

But I did. The voice whispered in the rage of Sherlock's mind. And I can save her if you just let me.

Sherlock's eyes danced between Lestrade's mournful ones, Artelle's resigned composure, and Moriarty's manic smile before locking for a final time on Molly. His Molly. The one that he had sworn he'd always protect.

You still can.

And in that moment, an irrevocable decision was made.

He watched Molly scream as Artelle's hands finally made contact with her temples, though not out of what was being done to her, but in horror at what she could tell that he was about to do.

It mattered not though.

For Sherlock had already surrendered to the darkness. He felt the creature invade his senses, and power raced through his veins in a manner that he had always feared.

He fully gave into the dark side of the Force.

And then the world went black.

/ Six Years Later/

The moment was a blur.

Sweat dripped onto Sherlock's brow, despite the icy snow that nipped at his toes. His breath came in wretched gasps as his hands tightened over his lightsaber, unwilling to lose even a moment to the one he had deigned his enemy.

His eyes flitted over the figure, though they derived nothing from the way that they hid behind their garb. Sherlock himself ensured that his hood hung low, refusing to reveal even his identity to someone so unworthy.

Someone who had the audacity to stand in the way of his one true purpose.

The earth trembled around them.

Starkiller Base was at its end, and Sherlock was intent to see to it that the hated figure would be at their end too.

Energy crackled. The Force sizzled.

And all Sherlock could see was the broken face that had haunted his dreams and spurred him on his relentless pursuit.

Blades slashed. The Force was tugged this way and that, neither figure admitting defeat, even as the planet crumbled around them.

He would murder the being that had the audacity to stand between him and his love.

The world tilted.

And a scream rang out as the metal mask was sliced through, slitting the tender flesh that lay beneath.

The pain was visceral. That much was evident.

As the remains of the metal monstrosity was ripped away, a splattering of crimson marred the snow on which it fell, and Sherlock found his eyes following the trail with an almost crazed passion.

And then the world literally split in two, as though the very planet itself was trying to separate Sherlock from his enemy, his target, his victim. His hood had been blown back during the chaos of the previous moment, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

For there was no enemy, nor target, nor victim seething back at him from the point across the ravine.

Rather, Molly Hooper stared back at him with horror, clutching at the remains of her mask as the blood ran down her face.

/

To be continued…