Mycroft hated the long talks with his father.

No. No not hate, Jedi did not hate. But the conversations were tedious to say the least, the old man would drone on, always coming back to Mycroft's status as a bastard. At last his father finished his rant, his face visibly flushed even over hologram. His breathing was ragged as his abusive shouting came to a close. An unsuccessful rage at his eldest son for his disobedience and his open defiance.

"I happen to be close friends with a Separatist leader, Mycroft," his father snapped.

Mycroft dreaded how much like Sherlock their father looked. The only striking difference was the silver that streaked their father's hair and his nose. The elder man's eyes narrowed, the Jedi shifted.

"Yes, I have heard of your friend. James Moriarty?" Mycroft said with mock uncertainty. "I also know the price of his friendship and advise you not to press the issue with me. I was not thrilled to discover your decision with my younger brother."

"A boy you have never met can hardly count as your "brother". Just as he would hardly count as my cub," Jovian snapped.

Mycroft smirked at the thought of Lestrade and his former padawan. The silver haired master had always been found with a dark haired boy at his side, the child eagerly awaiting a new lesson or his master's attention. It was unlikely Sherlock would count himself Jovian's cub either. Jovian's eyes narrowed.

"What is it?"

"I fear it would go over your head," Mycroft chuckled fondly. He waved his hand over his comm, effectively cutting off his father's image. It did not take long for his brother to find the elder Holmes mulling over the conversation in his head. The knight sat across from him with an ungraceful flop. They had been riding for days, both men at the end of their energy reserves. The child was sleeping whenever he wasn't eating or traveling. Jedi could go for days without proper sleep or food, but preferred not to.

Sherlock cupped his chin in his hand and gazed inquisitively at his brother. "How was the hundark?"

"Still irate, as usual. How is the boy?"

"Still sleeping. His body can barely handle this weather, but he will press on because he doesn't dare disappoint the Order," Sherlock said crossly. "Idiot boy."

"Admirable trait in a young Jedi," Mycroft said easily.

"I do not want him to-" Sherlock hesitated.

"To?" Mycroft prompted.

His little brother shook his head slowly, his thoughts made his eyes cloud. "I do not want him to grow up as I did. At his age I also slept in a place where I was too cold to become comfortable. I do not want it for John."

Mycroft rose to fetch a kettle in order to make tea. It was a simple enough process, crush herbs in bowls, boiling water, and throwing it all together. Sherlock turned his nose up at the offered beverage, but accepted it none the less. Both Jedi sat and sipped in silence, until Mycroft at last broke it.

"He is doing marvelously for a child, Sherlock. You should be proud," Mycroft said softly.

"He pushes himself too far. He forgets he is still younger than the average aged padawan," his brother growled. The dark haired knight lay his tea bowl down in disgust. "And your tea making is appalling."

Mycroft nearly smirked. His brother rose unsteadily, clearly ready for sleep. After a beat the ginger man spoke. "Anthea always pushed herself too hard. It is not only a youngling's flaw."

"I will tame it," Sherlock assured himself swiftly. "I will not allow harm to come to the boy simply because he is reckless."

"As I allowed Anthea," Mycroft said carefully.

"No," Sherlock said irritated. "Of course not. I only meant-"

"That you did not want him to suffer as Anthea did. It is alright, Sherlock. I am not made of glass, I know mistakes were made that day," Mycroft said, surprisingly gently.

"It is not my intent to throw it in your face," Sherlock grumbled.

Ah, yes. An almost apology for an earlier comment. The padawan had though himself discreet, but had danced around his master's ankles, demanding it be righted. The boy was a fascinating specimen, one moment admiring Mycroft, the next bristling in defense of his teacher. Sherlock, begrudgingly, was not an awful master.

Though his discipline could do with a bit of work.

"I know," Mycroft said quietly.

"What made you want a child? Willingly? I cannot imagine ever willing taking one of these," he waved his hand in John's direction dramatically, "by choice."

Mycroft could practically hear the boy's snort in his ears, though he slept on. Mycroft closed his eyes, longing for mediation or sleep. "You say you would never take one on willing? How ironic since you will not let him go willingly either."

"The boy is mine," Sherlock said in a low voice. "If it were any other child, any other brat-"

"We had thought of many other children for you. I had to constantly remind Master Yoda that I had claimed to that child, but the old troll always came back to pairing you.

"Old troll?" Sherlock questioned amused.

Mycroft smirked. "It is the fatigue speaking."

"Ah." Sherlock nearly smiled. "I should tend to the boy now, tomorrow is his big day."

Mycroft cringed as the hospitality built between them crashed downward. Of course Sherlock would only make a temporary truce with him, and of course it would only be from exhaustion. His brother strode back towards the child's bed of robes and wolf stomach. He pulled the padawan into his arms, rousing him in the process. John looked more than ready to burst into tears. A soft palm to the back of his head steadied him.

"You must take supper and urinate, John," Sherlock coaxed gently. "Come now, little one."

Little one. What an odd choice for a nickname. There was a time when he had often referred to Anthea as "small one", but after the age of fifteen she did not enjoy the affection any longer. He proceeded to call her "young one", far more formal and worthy of an upcoming knight. John seemed to adore being addressed as "little one".

"Not hungry," the boy grumbled, snuggling in closer to Sherlock.

"Too bad," the young man said sternly. John huffed as he was carried off to the designated restroom corner. Sherlock held the child closely through his meal until John was again asleep. His little eyes squeezed shut. Perhaps Sherlock had been right. This was far too difficult for a nine year old to handle.

It was something he should have noted, at the age of ten Sherlock had been even frailer than John. It was often difficult for Mycroft to comprehend that shivering child he had once known was now a strong knight raising his old child.

He never would have suspected Sherlock would come so far.

oOo

"Go, Sherlock."

The seventeen year old pushed at the ten year old boy roughly. Honestly, the boy had no sense of manners, holding up the food line in such a way. Several hungry padawans behind them snarled insults under their breath that were no doubt still audible. The dark haired child staggered backwards, out of line with his tray held close. "I-I-my master's not here," he said pleadingly. "I don't know how much I can have…"

With a second of hesitation, Sherlock ran away from the teasing padawans as quick as his legs would take him. Panic was written plainly on his face. Later he would admit to Mycroft he was frightened of taking too much food and being punished. The ginger teen watched the younger boy flea. He sighed.

It was the Jedi way to help the weak after all.

He loaded his plate up, enough for two, and went to find the miserable creature who had insulted his master in the midst of the Great Hall. Perhaps helping him was not the wisest duty to preform, but as it would be a waste to dump the boy's portion he continued to his search. No doubt the cooks would have his head for throwing out precious food.

The dark haired padawan sat at a lone table, his knees to his chest, comm link in hand. He was sniffling miserably into the speaker and pressing it longingly back to his ear as the recipient responded. "When is your meeting over though, Master?"

An unfortunate sleeve was turned into a tissue as Sherlock wiped at his nose. He nodded at whatever his caller had said.

"I'll wait for you back home, okay? It didn't work, the experiment was a flop, Master. I want to go home." Sherlock dabbed at his eyes. "I want my mum. No one here even likes me 'cept you."

The teen's heart nearly broke in half as he placed his loaded tray on the table gently. The noise caused the little boy to jump out of his skin, but Mycroft began splitting up the plates he had brought for his new companion. Sherlock had smelt Gorian, like Mycroft. The teen had brought him dessert and meats from their home planet. The boy wiped his nose again.

Revolting.

Mycroft passed him a napkin, trying not to look overly disgusted.

"I meant for you to go faster, not starve yourself," the teen said quietly. "Eat. You are too thin."

Slowly the child picked up a fork. His eyes gleamed with suspicion, but the fork was still brought to his mouth with a part of a sweet cake attached. The blue eyes lit up. "It's like back home!" Sherlock delved into it eagerly, almost forgetting to chew. Mycroft shuddered to think about the boy's manners and passed him over the sweet cake originally meant for the older boy. Sherlock spoke into his comm link. "Master, they've got sweet cakes here. Like Mum used to make me when I was good!"

"So not very often?" the boy's master quipped over his comm link.

Mycroft chuckled as Sherlock shot him a pouting glare. He played almost unhappily with his fork, as if contemplating something horrid. "If you're nice to me the other kids will hate you," he said at last.

"Jedi do not hate," Mycroft said unconcernedly. "And I care little for what other think of me."

"Oh," Sherlock said quietly at his food. The two boys ate in silence as other padawans and masters looked at them judgmentally. Mycroft sent one older girl away sobbing after she addressed Sherlock as "freak". He simply dabbed at his mouth with his napkin while pointing out how likely she was to fail her upcoming knight's test. He didn't understand why it came as a shock to the poor girl, it truly was obvious. Sherlock's eyes were shining.

"So…does this mean we're friends?"

Mycroft hesitated. Friends? With a Sith? Absolutely not.

Sherlock's shoulders slumped as if hearing the older boy's thoughts.

He was…perhaps….a bit cute. In a helpless akk puppy sort of way. If Mycroft took him as a friend he could train him, take him away from his Sith ways. Mycroft chewed at his lip.

"You will make your own friends here. You do not need me."

Sherlock nodded in misery. "Yeah, okay."

Mycroft rolled his eyes.

"I will help you train when you are at temple, but that's hardly friends," the older boy snapped. "Your master practically lives on Naboo. We shan't see much of each other, I doubt he will raise you here."

Sherlock perked. "But…when I am here…?"

"I will assist you," the teen promised easily.

Sherlock beamed at him.

How quickly his expression towards Mycroft would change.

oOo

Tell me?

Little one. Sherlock's voice was stern.

But you guys were friends? You must have-

Master stifled his thoughts by pulling him in close. John pouted as the stronger man held him firmly, despite his struggles. There had been a time where Mycroft and Sherlock had got on, he had seen it! Poodoo on Sherlock for not wanting to tell him what happened.

What did you do to make him angry, Master? John joked carefully.

His master's eyes narrowed. I did nothing, young one. It was-

Mycroft?

Sherlock hesitated, his Force presences tightened around the pair before at last he spoke.

Mycroft did something I can never forgive, little one. Not even as a Jedi.

What?

Ask him later.