Sherlock was refusing to speak with anyone but his master.
Lestrade had made many attempts to coax the child into speaking with some of his friends, but Sherlock simply paled and tried to curl into himself. Once Qui Gon had visited them in their home, and Sherlock simply wiggled into Lestrade's side on the sofa whilst refusing to speak. Lestrade attempted to chide him for being rude to a cherished friend, but it only made the boy panic and cry. Qui Gon, ever the patient soul, smiled good naturedly and left with a polite bow.
Molly was the first one to succeed in getting Sherlock to speak. The first time she visited she had walked in on Sherlock unexpectedly and was shocked when the padawan ran into Lestrade's arms. It was almost comical to watch her reaction as Lestrade made soft shushing noises to soothe Sherlock.
At first her face contorted in obvious shock to see Lestrade in a position of responsibility, and then it softened as she realized he was succeeding. Unlike Qui Gon, she did not leave after Sherlock burst into tears when Lestrade left the room. Instead, sensing that Sherlock was already beginning to take after his master, she showed him the skull she was currently delivering to Master Maser. Sherlock's sobs stopped at once.
Often whenever she was delivering a specimen to her former master it was brought to Lestrade for inspection. Such things had fascinated him since boyhood, and it seemed the same went for Sherlock.
The padawan took the skull in his hands and sat perfectly still next to Molly. He turned it over in his hands as Molly explained it was from an unfortunate Iktotchi who had his head bashed in. Lestrade flinched at the gory story, but Sherlock beamed almost wickedly and nodded.
"He was stabbed in the nose too, just here," Sherlock pointed out hurriedly, jabbing one of his scrawny fingers into the nostril cavity.
Without making a scene at the padawan's sudden and happy speech, Molly smiled. "Not many padawan's your age would notice that, which one do you think killed him?"
"Blow to the head," Sherlock said easily. "The stab to the nose made him bend over, and that's why the blows on the back. Also that's big dent, would have killed him in a second."
Molly beamed, and Lestrade groaned.
At the very least, his child was happy.
And that was all that mattered.
oOo
Lestrade lay with Sherlock on his chest.
Both Jedi's hearts were pounding in fear and fury. Lestrade cradled Sherlock closely, though even in his sleep Sherlock growled at him. Shamelessly Lestrade touched the Force and used it to persuade Sherlock deeper into slumber.
Sherlock had shown the knight his back properly for the first time, Lestrade still had tears on his cheeks. It was a horrible mess of infection, welts, and open wounds. It was no wonder Sherlock had been refusing to bathe every night or lay on his back at bed time, the child must have been in horrible pain.
After making sure Sherlock was deeply, deeply asleep, Lestrade lay him in his own bed carefully. He tucked the covers around the small boy, sealing in the warmth around him before running with all his might to the healers bay. Without asking permission, he began gathering the supplies needed and rushed back before Sherlock was aware he had gone. He roused the sleeping padawan gently.
"Sherlock," he said softly, stroking a soft hand through the boy's hair. "Will you allow me to bind your back, little one? It will help it heal."
"Just you," Sherlock demanded back. Demanded, good, he wasn't fearful of Lestrade.
"Roll on to your stomach then," Lestrade instructed carefully.
Lestrade nearly started to weep again. Someone had done that, willingly beat a child, willingly left scars over Sherlock's back, there were such monsters in the world. Lestrade continued his light stroking of Sherlock's hair as his other hand applied medicine as cautiously as possible. He laid gauze over the now clean wounds and wrapped Sherlock carefully in bandages. The padawan crawled into his lap when he had finished.
"I'm okay," the padawan said carefully. "Don't cry, Master. You're not supposed to cry."
Lestrade chuckled wetly. "Forgive me, Curly."
"You look ridiculous, don't cry," his padawan said shortly.
It caused the young man to snort with laughter and pull his bratling in tighter. "I will stop if it embarrasses you, my padawan."
"It does," Sherlock said frankly. "You have no reason to cry."
No reason? No reason! The little one's back was in shambles, it would like scar and pain him the rest of his life, which Force wiling would be a long one. Still at only ten to be exposed to such hardships… Lestrade pulled his padawan closer.
Sherlock hesitated. "Forgive me, Master. Moriarty often said such things to me when I cried."
"Curly," Lestrade said gently, "I will need to keep this closely monitored. Your bandages will need to be changed twice daily, and I shall need to apply ointment every time they are changed. You will also need to take medicine with morning tea."
"I," Sherlock began, sounding worried, "I don't think I like medicine."
"Tough," Lestrade said firmly. Then, thinking of the kind of medicine the poor boy had endured, changed his tactics. "It will not hurt, I promise you."
He was given a dubious look, but at last Sherlock settled himself in the knight's arms and went to sleep.
Lestrade found he couldn't bring himself to rest at all that night.
oOo
Sherlock had left for his classes, fussy and cross about sitting in the hard desk chairs with his "itchy" bandages.
Lestrade had been left to himself for the first time in two weeks. It was a nice change, a quiet one to be more honest. He found himself missing his padawan at times throughout the day when Sherlock would have normally taken lunch with him or questioned him on old Jedi stories. Sherlock was frightened about making friends, but Lestrade told him to think of it as an experiment and the boy seemed more eager.
Besides, Lestrade had a meeting with his former master and did not wish for Sherlock to be present during that time. The old man had agreed to be civil while discussing the new padawan's arrangements, and Lestrade had been forced by Yoda to at least hear him out.
If anyone but Yoda had asked (demanded) he would have laughed in their face.
Lestrade wearily turned when heard the door hiss open. His master strolled in with his usual air of superiority that had often made Lestrade's insecurities bloom in his youth. The knight had never had the confidence his master had seemed to display.
"Master," the young man bowed in greeting.
"Apprentice," his master said stiffly.
Stars, it was like nails on a chalk board to hear that word fall from his lips. Lestrade motioned for the master to sit anywhere he pleased while the younger man sorted tea. There was a loud squeak as the springs of the sofa yielded to the master's weight. Lestrade sighed inwardly.
"Where is the boy?" the master asked at last.
"At his morning class," Lestrade said stiffly.
"You have not given him up then?"
Lestrade grit his teeth together. "Master," he said warningly.
"Is this revenge for your childhood? You think this is a way to get back at me for leaving you behind so often? You have already claimed Yoda as your master in front of my peers, why must you now insult me further?"
The cup in the knight's hand shattered, spraying glass and tea across the floor. A sharp piece managed to slice deeply into his wrist, but it went unnoticed.
"If you would leave me be, if you would have let me transfer under Yoda's guardianship, I still would have taken Sherlock as my padawan. It is an insult to no one, it is not revenge for anything. He is a frightened little boy, and I will protect him at all costs," Lestrade said heatedly. "Do not forget I defied Yoda as well when the council debated on where to send the boy."
"Apprentice," the master's voice cracked like a whip. He had never been overly abusive, never physically harmed Lestrade more than a smack across the arse or a bruised cheek. But the emotional abuse that had been dealt at the old man's hand made Lestrade flinch at the tone.
Foolish, he told himself angrily, Sherlock faced whips and burns, and I flinch because of a scolding.
"Get out," Lestrade said coldly. "If you will not listen to me-"
"You forget, I have a right to this boy," the master said menacingly. "Yoda himself knows it, why do think he is eager for you to make your amends with me. If I make a fuss to the council about your lack of teaching skills, you will be evaluated. And the padawan will stay in my care until you are deemed worthy."
It felt as though the floor shifted beneath him.
"I…" Lestrade hadn't known. Hadn't realized that a former master had so much control over an ex-apprentice's future even still. He sat down quite suddenly in his chair, feeling sickness wash over him.
"Will do as you are told," the master hissed. "If I cannot make you abandon this padawan, I will see to it he is raised properly. Starting with his light saber training, we will-"
"I'm taking Sherlock to Naboo," Lestrade snapped. "I want to raise him there, where I can keep a close eye on his development."
"The council will not let you take that little Sith anywhere. Not yet anyways, he is a liability as of now."
"I will be speaking to the council," Lestrade said angrily.
The master leaned forward in his seat.
"I look forward to it."
oOo
"Master, are you alright?"
Lestrade continued to fiddle aimlessly with his food, a piece of over sauced chicken was being smashed rather unappealingly into a bed of rice. Sherlock watched his master nervously. Never before had Lestrade been so distant and quiet, he barely even seemed to notice Sherlock's existence.
"We learned about master and student etiquette today," Sherlock tried unsurely.
"Mm," was the only response.
"I made a friend, I think. His name is Mycroft."
"Mm."
"He gave me lunch."
"Mhmm."
"He cut my arm off too, and then fed to Master Kota while I watched."
"Sounds like quite the day."
"Master," Sherlock complained.
Lestrade finally looked up at him with tired eyes, Sherlock gaped openly. It was the first time his master had looked worried in front of him. Sherlock blinked rapidly.
"I am listening to you, Sherlock," Lestrade assured softly. "Forgive me, it has been a very taxing day."
"Do you want me to go to my room?" Sherlock asked, worried he'd be dismissed.
"No," Lestrade said, getting that weird baffled look he sometimes had when Sherlock said things. "Why would I-? Never mind." Lestrade waved the question away looking exhausted. Sherlock frowned at his master's expression and pushed back from the table.
"Will you show me one of your jarred hearts?" Sherlock asked eagerly. Master Lestrade always liked to show him things, it would no doubt take his mind off whatever was troubling him. In fact the older man smiled at once.
"Which one's have I showed you?" he asked, rising from the table.
"The rancor one, the akk one, and-Master is your arm bleeding?"
Startled, Lestrade looked down at his arm. His sleeve was dyed a deep red from what looked like blood. As he rolled up his sleeve a long cut on his wrist was revealed, covered in fresh and dried blood. The knight sighed heavily and asked that Sherlock fetch the bacta ointment they had been using for his back. Sherlock ran to the medical cabinet only to find it empty.
"Master," Sherlock called uneasily.
"Blast it," Lestrade hissed, seeing his empty cabinet. Sherlock flinched besides him.
Yes, Master Lestrade had never once raised a hand to him. Yes, Master Lestrade was kind and good natured and promised never to beat him. But still Sherlock had used all the medicine for his back and now his master had none for his own injuries, and that had to mean-
A gentle hand plopped down on his head and eased through his curls, effectively cutting off his panicking thoughts. Lestrade had a pondering gaze that Sherlock kind of liked. It made Lestrade look mischievous and playful, ready for a new plan to make a game out of anything.
Lestrade's free hand stroked his beard thoughtfully.
"Come with me, young one."
oOo
Sherlock was pressed against him in fear as a human nurse lead them into one of the many healing rooms.
God, he hadn't meant for Sherlock to be so frightened. He simply wanted the kid to know there was no reason to fear the healers and his own injury seemed like the perfect reason to seek them out. Still as Lestrade sat in an uncomfortable waiting chair, Sherlock crawled into his lap without a second thought. It must have been a horrible fear, Sherlock hated to be soothed in public and would often growl whenever Lestrade tried.
Great, the kid was trembling too.
They weren't bonded yet. He had…fibbed to the council slightly. Sherlock hadn't wanted to allow him into his mind, convinced that Lestrade would seek only to control him, and the young knight had no desire to push the subject. They would bond when the time was right, not before.
Or not at all, given Lestrade's luck.
Sherlock laid his head on Lestrade's shoulder, but refused to look directly at the older man. Lestrade stroked his back gently.
"It is for me, Sherlock. They will not touch you," he assured carefully.
"I don't want to watch you…" the boy's voice trailed away.
"Watch me?" Lestrade prompted.
The door hissed open before Sherlock could answer, Molly walked in with a data pad and a first aid kit. She wore her traditional robes, with a pure silver saber at her hip, and her hair pulled back into a bun that Lestrade secretly liked. She turned to him with a small eye roll.
"Greg," she chided lightly. "I hope this isn't another last minute injury that has become infected to the point of nearly no return."
Lestrade chuckled. "A small cut is all."
"And you couldn't stich it yourself?"
Lestrade looked offended as he shifted Sherlock to roll up his sleeve. "It is on my dominate arm," he explained mockingly. "But it was more of an excuse to see you," he added with a wink.
"Gregory," she sighed heavily, then to Sherlock said brightly, "hello, little one."
"Hello, Master Hooper," Sherlock muttered against Lestrade's chest, his hand clenched tightly in the knight's tunic.
"Sherlock," the young man said soothingly.
"I don't want to look," Sherlock demanded.
"You don't have to look," Lestrade said quietly, "but I wish you would."
Sherlock sniffled. "Why?"
"So you can see that the healers want to help. No one is going to hurt you here."
Molly, blessed Molly, leaned over his arm without a word. Clinically she took his arm in her small hand and used lukewarm water to wash away the dried blood. All under Sherlock's careful eye.
"You will say something if it hurts, won't you Master?" Sherlock ordered stiffly.
"Yes, padawan," the young man said warmly.
"Because you are bigger than she is, Master. You can make her stop if it hurts you," Sherlock reminded him sternly. Molly paused her treatment to look on the little boy with a mixture of pity and confusion. Lestrade felt him stomach kick back slightly.
"And how would I "make her stop", Sherlock?"
Sherlock pondered for a moment. "I don't know. Moriarty used to have anyone who harmed him flogged, but I have never seen you hit anyone…you are quite large though, I'm sure you could take on anyone."
Lestrade visibly faltered and gaped at his padawan for a moment.
"Molly," Lestrade said quietly, gently placing Sherlock on the ground before turning back to his companion. "If you would be so kind, I have several ribs that popped out of place this morning. Mace seemed to be in a rotten mood while we were sparring."
"Gregory," Molly said in warning.
Lestrade threw his shirt of his head and lay down slowly on the floor without a word. Sherlock sat next to him swiftly.
"Open your mind to me, Sherlock," Lestrade instructed.
"You promised," Sherlock whispered pleadingly, "you said I wouldn't have to-"
"My mind is open to you, little guy," Lestrade lulled. "I am just as vulnerable to you as you are to me, it is a two way street. Come now."
Sherlock looked dubious, but Lestrade allowed his mind to touch the boy's as lightly as possible. Sherlock's mind shields were still snapped up, but Lestrade let Sherlock enter his mind silently. The boy could only touch his most recent memories, he was not yet strong enough to go further, but Sherlock could see the fear he felt that day in the presence of his own master, and the frustration at being asked by Yoda, a cherished elder, whom Lestrade could not deny, to speak to him. The padawan's mind shields slipped slowly down.
By the Force, it took everything Lestrade had not to pry into the child's mind right there. To see his horrors, to learn what had caused the boy to tremble at the slightest outburst. Instead he let his emotions flow into Sherlock's mind as they would one day share over a bond.
"You are in pain," Sherlock gasped in surprise. Lestrade nodded.
"My back," Lestrade explained, "is in very poor condition right now. Master Hooper is going to fix it for me."
Lestrade was able to guide Sherlock in a way that would simply allow him to view the pain, they would not share it. Molly ran her hands down his bare back seeking out the ribs professionally, forcing herself to distance her emotions for him and-
Snap.
The first rib was popped back into place.
"Nngh," Lestrade sucked in through gritted teeth.
"Master!" Sherlock cried, his mind's eye flashed with Lestrade's pain. The knight held up a silent palm, ordering Sherlock to remain where he was.
"Watch, feel," Lestrade commanded. "Just wait."
The second and third rib went back in far more smoothly, but the fourth, as he knew it would, caused him to bite his lip in pain. Molly pulled back almost at once.
"Master!" Sherlock said angrily, "you should have made her stop, you shouldn't have let her-"
"Watch," Lestrade said sternly. "You have pulled away from me and cannot see. Look for the pain you saw earlier, the great pain that was in my back."
Sherlock obeyed silently.
"It is gone…" he said unsurely.
"And?" Lestrade encouraged.
"The pain from the treatment?" Sherlock said unsurely. "It is gone too?"
Lestrade nodded slowly and shifted into a sitting position so he could cup Sherlock's cheek. The boy looked at him with a mixture of adoration and concern.
"Jedi are not a violent people, Curly. We do not harm others, and if we do cause discomfort, we try to make a healing pain."
"What if…someone tries to hurt me?" Sherlock asked curiously. "Am I allowed to prevent it?"
"Always, Sherlock," Lestrade said, giving his chin a small squeeze.
"Even from you?"
Lestrade nodded, fighting a feeling of dread. Sherlock must have still felt endangered around Lestrade, still didn't trust him completely.
"But you said you wouldn't hurt me," Sherlock said in confusion.
"Never intentionally," Lestrade promised. "But I will make mistakes, and for those I apologize."
Sherlock bowed his head.
"Master?" Sherlock said finally as Lestrade resat himself in the chair and gave his arm back to Molly. "Is that what it is like to bond? To feel your emotions?"
"No," Lestrade explained tenderly. "You will be able to shield from me, and I you. But there will be times when we share emotions, especially when you are young and cannot shield as well. If your shields are up, I will not break them down."
"Will I be able to break down yours?" Sherlock asked curiously.
"Perhaps, when you are older. It is about trust, Sherlock," Lestrade raised his free arm invitingly, and Sherlock sat next him in the chair.
"Moriarty would break my shields when he wanted information. It hurt a lot," Sherlock said quietly as he leaned into Lestrade's side.
"We needn't speak of a bond now, little one."
"Do you want one?" Sherlock piped up after a moment.
Lestrade hesitated. "Yes, it will make things…easier. But I will not push the issue, we will wait until you feel ready."
Molly finished the bacta rub and wrapped Lestrade's arms in a tight bandage. Her eyes dripped with tears and when Sherlock had begun to turn to a skeletal drawing on the other side of the room she stroke the knight's cheek fondly. Lestrade caught the hand gently in his own and held for a moment.
Their gaze held until Sherlock sighed loudly, indicating he was bored with the room. Lestrade sent him on ahead with an order to prepare for bed if he wanted to see another one of his master's prized specimens. The truth was he wanted a moment with Molly.
If only just one moment.