Sherlock insisted that John bundle himself warmly.
When John had originally come out in a light snow suit, Sherlock had fussed about him until the boy could no longer move his head from side to side. Honestly, what had the boy been thinking coming out in only a light snow jacket? Even Mycroft was fiercely bundled in preparation for the harsh elements a head. John huffed loudly as Sherlock helped him with his backpack.
"This is ridiculous, Master!" John said with annoyance. "I don't like all these clothes!" Indeed the boy could often be found with no shoes and shirtless.
"John, are truly going to argue with me while Mycroft is standing near?" Sherlock was half tempted to knock the boy down, as an experiment to test the work of gravity on a very angry, bundled, little boy. But John was already turning to Mycroft, demanding that he tell the knight how foolish it was. Mycroft chuckled.
"Even I agree with Sherlock, young one. Where we are going you will want to be bundled," Mycroft said calmingly. Sherlock gave a stiff nod of thanks and checked John over.
The only exposed flesh was on John's round face, he would be well protected from the cold of the mountains. With his odd shaped nose and pouting lower lip, John looked no older than five. Sherlock knelt slowly and cupped the boy's chin delicately. "It is for your safety, John. You are not used to the cold, your people were not built to survive it."
John made a low whimpering sound and pushed gently into Sherlock's chest. The knight held him closely to his shoulder, soothing him with soft words. John nodded slowly as his master pulled away. "Come along, John," he said lightly.
"Yes, Master." John toddled eagerly behind Sherlock. The knight could barely resist sweeping his padawan up into his arms and mocking him mercilessly. But with his brother present, and he was forced only to guide John closer to his side and grin down at the boy. John rolled his eyes, but smiled all the same.
Sherlock gave a shrill whistle that cut through the thin morning air, John grabbed his ears in surprise. The knight chuckled.
There was a thundering of feet as two familiar wrywolves came into sight. John began doing the small, in place, dance he often did when excited. Affection creeped into Sherlock's chest. As a boy, no one had been more important to him than Redbeard. Now John held that title, but was not jealous by its former. In fact, the boy seemed to genuinely love Redbeard. Sherlock continued to muse on the thought until his overzealous wolf plowed him over. John giggled delightedly as Sherlock was pinned beneath two large paws.
Brat.
"Get off!" he snapped at the wolf, shoving him away. John's giggles became shrieks of joy as Sherlock chased the little boy about the yard. At last he snatched the boy against his chest, John pressed his hooded head under the knight's chin and nuzzled him. Sherlock ran a slow finger down his child's oddly shaped nose and tapped it lightly. John giggled happily.
"Master, can't I just take off the boots?" John thrust out his lower lip. "Just the boots?"
"Little one, you will need them," Sherlock said sternly. "Don't be childish."
"Ah…" the child whined.
Sherlock helped John sit astride his wrywolf's shoulders, the boy pulled himself higher onto his mount. Sherlock swung himself up behind the boy after attaching their bag to Redbeard's sides. Another shrill whistle cut through the still air, shattering in it effectively. Thunderous footsteps announced the arrival of Redbeard's mate, to which Mycroft strode over almost uneasily.
"She will be calm?" he questioned Sherlock evenly.
"Probably," Sherlock grinned, pulling John closer to him. The boy tugged at his master sleeves insistently.
"What about the pups?"
"Safe with the priestesses," Sherlock said calmly. He wrapped another cloak around John's shoulders, shielding him from the future weather. "If you get cold, you will tell me."
John huffed indignantly. "Yes, Master."
Sherlock dug his heels into Redbeard's sides with a command forward. The wolf surged forward, causing John to tumble back into Sherlock's chest. The knight chuckled as they turned into a thicket, a mountain out lining the horizon.
Their destination on top.
oOo
It was so wizard!
John clutched at the fur between Redbeard's shoulder blades, every now and then stealing glances at Mycroft. The master looked as though he rode wrywolves every day of his life as he balanced gracefully on the silver female's back.
His own master had an absolutely thrilled look on his face. At least from what John could sense. Stupid clothes kept him from looking backwards. Sherlock's right arm was circled tightly around him, keeping the unstable child from falling. John shuddered as a sudden chill filtered through the air.
Speak through the bond now, little one. It is about to get dangerously cold. Pull your scarf up.
John obediently pulled his scarf over his nose as the temperature around them plummeted. The child bowed his head against the fierce wind, his eyes stung painfully.
Master!
Sherlock turned the boy around so he could bury his face in to soft fabrics of the knight's coat. The nine year old whimpered painfully, his natural instincts unused to freezing temperatures. Another cloak was drawn around the boy's shoulders.
You were bred for the tropics, I knew this would be hard on you.
Master sounded angry.
More so John could feel the tension grow between his master and Mycroft. He felt a sudden shift, heard a sudden grunt, and managed to peek out of his master's arm pit. Mycroft had been pelted with some of the frozen crystals formed in to a ball. Sherlock grinned triumphantly and turned John's face back towards the warmth.
"How do you fair, brother mine?" Sherlock called above the wind. "I know your body is more padded than John's or mine! Is it working to your advantage?"
There was an abrupt popping noise, and John looked up to see his master's face cover in ice.
Did you truly expect him not to get you back, Master?
Shut up, John.
John giggled.
How much further?
Days.
John mentally groaned and nestled in closer to Sherlock. The knight kept the child held close as the wolves leapt over the snowy terrain. The wind whipped around them cruelly, John shook his head as the minutes turned into hours. How was Sherlock able to with stand the cold so easily?
When I was a boy, your grandfather used to drag me into the mountains in just my undergarments.
John blinked up at Sherlock, surprised with the story.
At that age I was mostly used to heat, burns from Moriarty. I thought perhaps I had angered Lestrade into taking me up into a freezing climate. But your grandfather did not make me face it alone, he came with, in nothing but his socks at one point. That was how I knew it wasn't a punishment, Moriarty never took burns with me. I found myself enjoying the cold much more than the heat.
You like this weather, Master? John was appalled.
I thrive in it. My mind is sharper in the frost, the ice is not a punishment. It is learning and strength to me. I would have lived on Hoth if Master Yoda had allowed it.
There is no one on Hoth, Sherlock…
Precisely.
The rode in silence for ages until Sherlock called a halt to their expedition and drove the wolves into a cave. John's numb fingers remained tangled in Redbeard's fur, he could hardly slide down as Sherlock called to him.
"Why have we stopped?" Mycroft demanded at once. "We agreed on at least another four hours of-"
"John is weary, he hungers, and he needs to warm himself, Mycroft. He is only nine years old, we knew a twenty hour ride was a stretch." Sherlock hefted John from Redbeard's back and pulled him close. "He cannot go another four minutes."
John tried to apologize, he really did, but his numb face refused to move for him. He settled into Sherlock's warmth peacefully, Mycroft scowling behind them. At once he was stripped of his soaking clothes and placed in front of a warm fire. Sherlock draped a dry cloak around his shoulders and ordered Redbeard to lay around the boy. A cocoon of content warmth, the boy smiled gratefully.
Sherlock passed him over a decent amount of food and a packet of nectar. After the boy lay warmed and full, he set out to feed the wolves. John found himself leaning heavily into Redbeard's stomach, falling asleep to the sounds of Sherlock speaking in a low voice to his childhood friend.
The blond head lolled forward, and the boy was gone.
oOo
Mycroft wasn't arguing with him.
Mycroft always argued with him about John.
Was he dying?
Sherlock made certain John was warm enough, tucked him in with his sleeping robe and bear, and placed a firm kiss on the boy's forehead. Redbeard could easily sense the knight's affection for the boy, and therefore was more protective of him in honor of his human's caring. Sherlock stroked a soft hand through the damp blond hair. His child had done admirably for a nine year old. No doubt most children would have cried or whined. John had only complained once that his eyes hurt.
Strong boy.
The young man set off in the direction of his brother, briefly flirting with the idea of bringing a life-starting kit, when he came across the elder Holmes sitting cross legged in front of a hologram of a stone faced man. A wild gesture was made at the holograms expense, and Mycroft looked less than calm.
"I warned them this is the path I would take. Whether or not the council choose to act on it is not my fault, Father. We are already a third of the way there. You cannot halt our progress," Mycroft said angered.
"You are a bastard, Mycroft. How do you think the council is reacting to being outsmarted by a bastard boy!" their father roared.
"I think you will find I am hardly a boy anymore, Papa. I warn you not to cross me on this mission. This planet is my home, I only want it in safety."
"We have always dealt with both the Republic and the Separatists. Why should we change our ways now?" Jovian retorted crossly.
"This is not up for discussion," Mycroft said with a silencing hand. "My companion and I are on our way to meet with the priestesses, we have a child in our tow, this will be addressed."
"I have not had the pleasure of meeting your companion yet, perhaps he will be more reasonable with the situation."
"He is taking care of the child and cannot be disturbed," Mycroft said abruptly. The hologram flickered with annoyance, the Holmes sire glared down at his eldest son.
"You will do more harm than good."
"It is a risk we shall take," the master waved away the hologram with a tired flick of the wrist. He passed an exhausted hand over his face before raising from his place on the floor. With a great sigh, he stretched his lower back. "Horrible man."
"And yet you've chosen to take on his scent," Sherlock said coolly.
"To appease, brother mine. Something I find you to be quite foreign at."
Sherlock growled lowly, an open challenge that Mycroft declined with a small shrug of the shoulders. "How is the boy?"
"He cannot be trusted," Sherlock said coldly, ignoring the question.
"Now, brother mine, whoever said I trust was involved."
Sherlock huffed angrily as Mycroft strode pass him with his head held high. The knight steadied himself carefully. Former words from his master brought his heart rate from back to its normal pace. It had been a long lesson from Lestrade to stop hating his father. Three years it had taken his master to calm him.
It was not something he wanted John sensing from him.
oOo
Mycroft was woken in the middle of the night to a rough shaking of his shoulder.
With less grace than he'd ever admit, he roused himself swiftly. The hilt of saber was in his hands in a matter of seconds, but his brother's cool gaze stilled him. The older master groaned softly and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Do not tell me you had a nightmare?"
Sherlock was opening the blanket cocoon Mycroft had made around himself.
"Sherlock," the elder Holmes started to protest. The knight at last succeeded in removing the little warmth he had. Cold air attacked him with little mercy, as it had been doing all night, but its ferocity increased aggressively. Sherlock was laying something against his chest that was warm and solid. Mycroft shifted uneasily with the parcel he had been passed.
The boy.
A confused eyebrow arched as Sherlock began rewrapping the new duo.
"Take him, he is as warm as a furnace. I have Redbeard to keep me warm, you were being insufferable with your constant whimpering about the cold," Sherlock said with no bite. There may have even been some sympathy in his eyes.
"This almost makes you caring," Mycroft said evenly.
"It just means your wolf hasn't taken to you yet. These wolves are like heated mattress, the fact that yours won't go near you at night makes it difficult to adapt," Sherlock snapped.
Still kind.
The blasted child was mistaking him for Sherlock and trying to snuggle with him. A broad hand to the back of the boy's neck stilled him shortly. Blue eyes flickered open rapidly, at once alert that he was no longer up close with his master. Sherlock leant in close, whispered something softly into the boy's ear, and went back to his own sleeping area where his wolf was waiting. John seemed to accept whatever Sherlock had decreed and settled carefully into the Jedi master's hold.
By the Force the boy was warm!
Sherlock must have kept him close to the temperature of his home world.
The boy was no longer cuddling, but proceeded to lay his head on the master's shoulder. Silently he closed his eyes, his breathing began to steady itself. In a matter of minutes the boy was sleeping again. Panicked, Mycroft looked around for his younger brother to take the padawan back. There was every possibility that Mycroft could roll and crush him in the night, or thrash out in nightmare or-
You won't. Breathe Mycroft. You think I would give my padawan to someone idiotic enough to crush him in the night?
I-
Go to sleep you daft man.
With a final look at the sleeping boy, Mycroft released his fears into the Force and shifted.
Fine.
