They stood shoulder to shoulder in the midst of a won battle.

Mycroft looked on the carnage with some pity in his heart, it was not a celebrated thing to destroy another's life force. Beside him Anthea looked positively thrilled, her long head tails blew gently in the breeze.

"You were correct, Master. I am getting stronger," she boasted.

"Stronger, yes. But you still lack patience, young one. And compassion, you have just ended several lives, Anthea, try not to seem gleeful," Mycroft scolded.

"Us or them," she shrugged off the rebuke.

It was a dangerous way to think for a future Jedi knight. It would not help guide her through her trials, no doubt it would lead to her failure. The young man frowned at his excited apprentice, ready to delve into a deep lesson, when the Force rippled in warning.

Danger.

Mycroft swiftly caught his padawan around the waist and leapt back from an impending saber attack. She squirmed in his grasp angrily, freeing herself with a look of rage.

"I can do it myself, Mycroft! I could sense it too!" she shouted.

"Enough, padawan. You were not reacting to the warning, I gave you time-"

"I was going to counter him," she replied smugly. "You have taught me well, Master. I can handle a mere dark acolyte."

If he hadn't been so controlled he would have snorted. A Dark Acolyte was nothing to send a padawan after, even knights would struggle with them at times. The red eyed being gave them both a dark glance, his blood colored eyes sent tremors down Mycroft's spine. He pushed Anthea behind him lightly.

"Go to Dooku, young one. Or Sherlock, if you'd rather."

It was slightly annoying to know his padawan had misplaced affections for his own brother. She often tried to cozen him, little knowing the Sherlock had no desire for any woman or anyone at all. He needed her to be safe and for now Sherlock would have to suffer through her flirtations while he dealt with the Acolyte.

His padawan was unmoved. "Let me help you, Master," she said humbly. "Lestrade allowed Sherlock everywhere when he was my age, it is only fitting-"

"He was given freedom at seventeen and imprisoned by the Sith at eighteen, do not argue that fact with me, my apprentice," Mycroft said, activating his saber. "Go now."

Her lip trembled with emotion as she glared into Mycroft's eyes. "Not this time, Master."

She darted pass him before he could react.

"Anthea!" Mycroft cried and made to snatch her back. Shadows erupted from around him, seizing his wrists and ankles in a crushing grip. His body went cold as the darkness began incasing his body. He heard himself shouting for his brother before his master, but could only watch as Anthea battled with the Acolyte. Blackness rolled around their forms, almost lovingly licking at the Twi'lek girl's side. Sabers danced, sabers clashed, and sabers deflected.

And then a saber was protruding from her belly.

The Force cried out around him as his bond with the young girl died as she did. A piece of soul ignited in pain and brought a white light to his eyes. It was over in an instant, but felt like a life time. Sherlock was shaking him, freeing him from the shadows, and speaking to the Acolyte in a tongue Mycroft was too tired translate. The Acolyte sneered.

"Come now, Raven, don't be angry with me. She was never going to make it to knighthood anyway," the dark hair man said sweetly.

Sherlock was pulling Mycroft to his feet. "My master is shortly behind us, are you very sure you wish to stay here? He shan't be much longer," Sherlock sounded so confident in his former teacher, even the Acolyte looked unsure. His brother shifted so the elder could lean fully against him. "He nearly killed you last time," Sherlock's voice was just as sweet as the Dark One's had been.

"And you nearly killed him, Ravenous," the Acolyte snarled.

Sherlock flinched.

"Curly!" Sherlock's former master was roaring from behind, a short distance away.

The new knight smirked. "Run away, Moriarty. You cannot match him."

The Acolyte smiled almost gently. "Not today, my sweet one. But soon, very soon."

As the Acolyte began to vanish Mycroft noticed his vision began to blur.

It must have been raining.

oOo

Sherlock woke startled to his child lifting his arm and cuddling beneath him.

John pressed into his tear stained face into Sherlock's neck and whimpered aggressively. The knight shook the sleep from his body and pulled his boy closer. John had been spending his nights with Mycroft mostly, both wolves preferred Sherlock's company and could only be beckoned near Mycroft with John present. Without their warmth the eldest Jedi would freeze at night. Sherlock motioned Redbeard to stay at his post near an unstirred Mycroft. Blond hair tickled under his nose as John nuzzled into him. The knight snorted indignantly.

"Little one. Little-John! Be still. By the Force, child, you are kicking me in the stomach," Sherlock grumbled heatedly. "Did you have another night terror?"

"Master Mycroft watched his padawan die. He couldn't get to her in time…"

The story of Anthea's death had been kept from John. There had been no reason at the time to share the information, and the child had not sought it. Why it had chosen to plague John now, he would never know. A delicate scratch behind the ear soothed John into soft, unsteady intakes of breath.

"Breath, padawan. Steady yourself," Sherlock instructed gently.

"She-she tried to take on a Dark Acolyte by herself, she wouldn't wait for Master Mycroft. He kept shouting for her to be patient and wait," John babbled.

"Yes. When little ones refuse to listen to their masters there is seldom a good outcome. Mycroft's padawan rarely followed orders from what I heard. More than likely it was due to their closeness of age."

John tugged at Sherlock's ear sharply. "You're trying to turn this into a lesson, Master. I know to obey your instruction."

Sherlock kissed the small boy's temple. "And yet I often find myself pulling you from danger in the nick of time."

His padawan frowned and leaned closer. "Will Mycroft be alright?"

Sherlock settled them both into a more comfortable position, in which he lay curled protectively around his padawan's smaller form. "He has tried to steal you multiple times, no doubt he is feeling just fine."

John traced the longest scar on his master's chest from his heart to his right hip. His master pulled blankets over them into an odd shaped nest. Warmth spread all around them, John had never been so comfortable in his life. "Mycroft cried in the dream. Proper tears and everything."

"Despite common belief, little one, I don't believe Mycroft to be completely heartless," Sherlock said against John's forehead.

"Would you cry? If I died," John asked shyly.

"Stupid question."

John snorted. "So like a baby?"

Sherlock chuckled. "As I recall it was you who were in absolute tears when I was near death." Sherlock raised his pitch in mockery of his padawan's pain, "Master, please don't die. Please, I n-n-nee-d-d you."

John punched him the stomach. "Shut up. I thought you were dead meat, Master."

Sherlock grunted. "Your concern is touching, padawan mine. I shall relish it."

John giggled, content with his situation and began drifting towards sleep. The young eyes grew heavier as Sherlock continued to run his fingers through the soft hair. Mycroft would not be pleased when he woke to find the pair together. John cuddled closer as if sensing his master's worry. "Will Mycroft be okay if I sleep with you tonight? Just cause if you think he'll be cold I'll go back."

After a brief moment of thought, the knight answered.

"Stay."

oOo

Mycroft was kicking him roughly in the shin.

The young knight hissed with frustration as he was roused from a sound sleep. The fire before him crackled noisily, sparks threatened him as they sprang forth aggressively. The knight withdrew his boots swiftly from the flames, luckily John was protected carefully against his chest.

"What?" the younger man snapped heatedly.

Mycroft pointed accusingly toward the fire with upraised eyebrows. Sherlock sighed heavily and rolled his eyes, against his chest John shifted closer.

"What is the problem with fire, Mycroft? Does it frighten you?" he seethed. "You are like a monster in one of John's stories. Go back to sleep."

"There is no dry flint, Sherlock. And strong as it is, the Force cannot produce matches from thin air."

Sherlock pulled the heap of blankets over his head in rebellion. Stars, he had never been so exhausted in his life time. Mycroft jabbed one of his dagger like fingers into his little brother's kidneys, Sherlock groaned.

"Must you? Let me sleep, Mycroft."

"I know what you did," the older man accused.

"And yet you proceed with this interrogation," Sherlock remarked swiftly. "I had little choice, the weather turned so frozen last night even the wolves struggled with it."

Mycroft yanked the blankets from the curly head and pointed an aggressive finger under the younger's nose. "Sith lightning, in front of John-"

"The boy was sleeping-"

"Sith arts, here Sherlock?"

The knight was reaching the end of his limit. Lightning was not something he had ever been gifted at, it wasn't a trait he longed for, and it sapped him of his energy. He leaned heavily against Redbeard's velvety stomach, pleading with the living Force to expel his brother from his presence to no avail. Mycroft demanded an explanation. At last the Jedi snapped.

"You and John were turning blue in your beds, Mycroft! What else was I to do?"

John shifted at the disturbance, searching mindlessly for Sherlock in his sleep. His master carefully placed him on the red wolf's back and weakly rose to face his brother's judgment. His knees nearly buckled as he stood, Mycroft sensed it.

"It is not a technic a child could learn," the master said quietly.

"I did not learn it as a child," Sherlock replied faintly. Mycroft barely had time to catch the younger man as he fell forward. Repulsed that he had needed Mycroft's assistance Sherlock made to push away, but it was a weakened attempt. All of his body weight was against his older brother's torso. He heard a far off grunt.

"Sherlock? Perfect, Sherlock. We're already late and you choose now to-"

It was the last thing he heard before he slipped into unconsciousness.

oOo

"But he's okay?"

"Your master is fine, padawan," Mycroft assured the youth for the millionth time. John looked on his sleeping master dubiously, his face seemed slightly panicked.

"So he's not gonna die or anything, right?"

Morbid child.

"He is fine, young one," Mycroft said firmly, letting his irritation seep into his voice. The child shrank away from him slowly, his small hand unconsciously tugged at his sleeves. The boy glanced up at slowly at the tall master with a small huff of defiance and looked on Sherlock longingly.

"Are you okay, Master Mycroft?" the boy said slightly childishly. He took a step closer to the tall master, his movements unsure. Mycroft arched a questioning eyebrow. John's face contorted in concentration. "I-I had a nightmare last night…and…and…" Whatever the child was struggling with became too great. He lunged forward unexpectedly and hugged the Jedi master around the waist.

"I'm sorry about your padawan, it must have been awful, I hope you're okay, it wasn't your fault, you're a good teacher, I'm sorry, really, really sorry, please don't tell Sherlock I gave you a hug or he'll tease me, but if ya want to talk to someone I'm a good listener," the boy finished his rushed babbling and broke the embrace. His round cheeks were flushed red as he turned and fled to where Sherlock was laying. The boy hid himself shyly under his master arm. Sherlock stirred.

"Little one?"

"You didn't die!" the boy cried happily. Only now did Mycroft catch the sarcasm and jest of the child's words.

His brother smiled as he rose. "Brat."

"We have a twelve hour ride today, I want a story about Grandpa this time," the boy demanded fiercely.

"Do my stories of ancient Jedi and Sith bore you, small one?" Sherlock said tenderly, his free hand carded through the boy's soft hair.

"Was Grandpa more strong-"

"Stronger," his master corrected sternly.

John rolled his eyes. "Yeah that, than Moriarty? Was he really? What happened when you were eighteen? Did Grandpa-"

"John," Sherlock said firmly. "Be still."

The boy huffed an annoyed, "Yes, Master."

"Fetch your things, we are already hours behind."

"Yes, Master."

Sherlock rose on unsteady knees and looked on his older brother with suspicion. "Should I expect a lecture on my irresponsibility on the rest of the journey?"

"I think you have been punished enough," Mycroft mumbled, motioning to Sherlock's weakened state. "Excuse me."

He left his brother shocked and went to find the boy. A blond head was bobbing up and down in the back of the cave as John collected his teddy bear, privately stashed safely in the back of the cave. He managed to have it packed before Mycroft found him. The tall master knelt in front of him slowly.

"You truly do not feel anger towards me? Towards the grief I cause your master? I tried to have the two of you supported, young one," Mycroft let the honesty flow from him, expecting, perhaps hoping to see anger in the young boy's eyes. None came. Only sympathy.

"Healed wounds," John said with a shrug. "I mean I was kind of bantha mad at first, but Master says the past is over, it isn't healthy to try and bring it into the present. I'm trying to be a good man, like my master and his master before him. Master says I'm a good boy so..." John froze for a moment. "Er…don't tell him I told you though, okay?'

Mycroft surprised himself by reaching forward slowly, his arm circled the boy's slender shoulders and tugged him in softly. John came to him easily, arms thrown over his neck. In his lifetime, Mycroft had never once experienced the warmth of an embrace. Not even as a child. The padawan felt warm in the face of the cold. John patted his back softly and muttered repeatedly, "it's okay, Master."

For the life of him, Mycroft could not understand why the boy was comforting him.

But it must have been raining again.