I am no stranger to campaigning. Though I served as a surgeon in the Army, and so marched toward the back of the columns, there was no such thing as a noncombatant in the Afghanistan campaign. We had our riflemen, trained snipers and skirmishers who scouted around the main column, but in the harsh and alien landscape of that desert land they more than met their match in the wily natives. The Afghani tribes fought to a code much different from our staid and traditional tactics, and showed little mercy even toward the medical column that trailed behind the main force with the wounded and dying.

Scotland was not the bleak, rocky wastes of Afghanistan, but on this chilly morning it was terrain as fraught with potential hostility as that distant place. I kept my weapon loose in its holster, and wished for a good Baker rifle rather than the unfamiliar blaster. Even my revolver, small and short-ranged as it was, would have been preferred–but Holmes had that tucked away somewhere, for what purpose I did not know. Every nerve stood on a knife's edge, and my eyes strained for anything remotely out of place that might signal an attack. The landscape around us was silent–a sure sign that somewhere ahead the enemy lay in wait. Everything was breathless, hushed in anticipation of battle.

The Jedi spoke not at all, but moved with easy, flowing grace. If they felt the same tension as I they gave no sign. The unease in my heart grew; more than ever I agreed with Holmes that they were far too confident.

When it came at last, it was not in any form we had anticipated. Instead, I felt the air around me grow heavy, and my steps slowed. I felt as if I were wading through honey, and my lungs ached with the struggle to draw in air turned suddenly strange. The weight increased, and even the Jedi began to slow. My knees nearly buckled at one point, but a pair of hands caught my arms and hauled me upright. It was Holmes, displaying once more his remarkable hidden strength. Even so, he moved with nearly as much difficulty as I.

Eventually we were forced to a halt altogether as the air became a near-solid entity and movement became an impossibility. Though the Jedi appeared outwardly unconcerned there was uneasiness in their eyes. I tried to speak, to ask a question, but found myself unable to force the words through the thickened air.

Then he appeared, from some distance off, strolling toward us as nonchalantly as if he were on a Sunday walk in the park. He drew to a halt a few yards from the group, grinning like a naughty child at his handiwork.

"Like flies to honey," Derry said. "How obliging of you."

Mrs. Hudson managed to speak, though not without some difficulty. "Derry...this is pointless. What do you hope to gain?"

He snorted. "I should think that was rather obvious. An entire world, at my whim and whimsy, ripe for the taking? It certainly beats the hell out of hiding here like a condemned rat, unable to glory in what we are."

"The Jedi Order is not about glory, Derry," Qui-Gon said. "And what are you going to do with an entire world? You're only one man."

"Perhaps...but I am a man with a god's power." Derry laughed unpleasantly. "See how helpless you are in the face of my power? No one will dare stand against me!"

"Derry, you know that the Dark Side will only destroy you in the end." Mrs. Hudson's voice was pleading. "Come back to us. It isn't worth it."

"Oh, but it is," the renegade purred. "Perhaps it will eventually destroy me...but frankly, my dear, I don't care. I will enjoy the power and glory that is mine for as long as I can."

"We can't let you do this, Derry," Maeve said.

"And what are you going to do to stop me?" he sneered.

All at once, the pressure holding us in place vanished, and lightsabers flared to life. Derry reeled back, face pale. I could only guess that the Jedi had made a concerted effort to break his hold. They advanced on him in a half-circle.

"Turn away from the Dark Side," Qui-Gon said. "There is still hope."

Derry's face twisted with rage. "I abandoned hope when I was left to rot on this backward planet! The Council will never let us come home, and I've had enough of playing to the whims of those who care nothing for me!"

Holmes' hand closed around my arm. "They will have to kill him," he murmured. "I've seen men like this before. He turned his back on their Code with deliberate intent. There is no coming back for him."

Looking at the ugly hatred on the renegade Jedi's face, I could not but agree. I like to believe that anyone can be redeemed, that no matter what evil has been done a man might return to the path of righteousness. After all, that is the very core of Christian belief...but I also knew, in my heart, that such redemption must come with choice, and that though God may forgive, there does come a point of no return, where a man has made so many evil choices that he will never find the way back. Indeed, when a person has reached that point, they no longer wish to come back. They have made the choice, and embraced the darkness. I did not know the twisted path that had led Derry to this, for I did not know him...but he had all the hallmarks of a man who has passed that fatal point.

The Jedi, it seemed, did not share this belief. While the credo that no living thing deserves execution is admirable sometimes that is not the practical solution. Perhaps they had a chance of capturing Derry, of imprisoning him somehow–but how much destruction would he cause before they succeeded? How many lives might he take? The expression in his eyes promised death.

He proved it a heartbeat later. As the Jedi closed in, weapons ignited but with little intent to harm, Derry erupted into action. Actually, the ground erupted, throwing the Jedi back and driving me to my knees. Holmes staggered, but kept his feet. I allowed him to pull me back up, and we stared in mutual horror at the chaos the renegade unleashed.

It was as though the gates of Hell had suddenly opened. The ground beneath us heaved and bucked, sending up showers of earth and stone. A howling wind tore at our clothing, drawing streaming tears from stinging eyes. The Jedi were tossed about in the center of the fury, unable to cope with Derry's ferocious power. Holmes had been right; Derry was far more powerful than any of them had supposed, and the potential stolen from Moriarty's men and the captured Jedi had stayed with him.

The tempest ceased for a moment–though I sensed it was only drawing another breath to howl–and Holmes crawled over to Mrs. Hudson, who was struggling to her hands and knees. "You must kill him!" he said, his voice harsh.

She shook her head. "Jedi do not kill unless there is no other choice. We must try to turn him back."

"Dammit, woman, he isn't going to–" Holmes' words were cut off as Derry attacked again.

Horrors and nightmares charged us from every side. This time, at least, the Jedi were a little more prepared, and battled the creatures. They might have been half-illusory, but they caused very real damage. A monstrosity snagged Maeve's arm with a taloned appendage, opening up a long, bloody gash. The lightsabers had but minor effect on the creatures.

Strangely, though, they seemed to ignore Holmes and I. Creations of Derry's mind and will, they were focused–as he was–entirely upon the Jedi. To the renegade, neither myself nor my companion were considered a threat. We were ordinary humans, incapable of attacking a Jedi with much success.

I raised my blaster, intending to fire at a horror threatening Far Lao, but Holmes knocked my hand down. "Don't attract their attention," he hissed.

"But–"

Even as they battled, the Jedi pleaded with Derry, trying to coax him back from the Dark Side. He laughed at them, and hurled lightnings. Shannan was hit, and fell heavily to the ground. Grey Wolf threw himself on top of her as the nightmare creatures closed in, claws reaching. Ben, the youngest and most impetuous (and, from the looks of things, the fiercest swordsman) hurled himself at Derry, only to be flung back by an invisible hand. He crashed into the rock face of a hill and crumpled. More horrors, shrieking eagerly, moved in to rend him, but Qui-Gon was there, standing over the body of his fallen apprentice, his face serene but his lightsaber whirling in a deadly dance.

Belatedly, the Jedi seemed to come to the realization that the only way they were going to survive this fight was to kill Derry. Far Lao was engaged in keeping the creatures off Grey Wolf and Shannan as Grey Wolf tried to regain his feet. Shannan remained a still figure on the ground. Mrs. Hudson, MacEiver, and Maeve closed in on Derry.

It was a futile effort. Dark energies swirled around the renegade, lancing out to knock his attackers back. One formed itself into the shape of a clawed hand and closed around MacEiver's throat, lifting him into the air, struggling wildly.

Movement next to me caught my eye. I looked to see Holmes draw out of his leather jacket my little Army revolver. "Don't move, Watson," he said. I could hardly hear him over the raging battle, but he formed the words clearly enough so that I could read his lips. "Don't think, don't feel...don't even breathe." I sensed that he was talking more to himself than he was to me.

He raised the revolver. His eyes were nearly black, the pupils dilated so widely the grey was swallowed up. His face was white as death as he took aim. The hand holding the gun was perfectly steady, but his free hand was clenched into a fist so tight the bones showed yellow beneath his skin.

It should have been a near-impossible shot, with that little revolver. But Holmes, maddeningly talented as he was, was one of the best shots I had ever met. Moreover, the consequences that would follow should he miss were such that...well, he couldn't miss. There was only this one chance.

The sound of the shot was lost in the chaos around us, but I saw his finger tighten on the trigger and the hammer move. My gaze flew to Derry, to the center of the terror.

He stood unmoved, triumphant in his power, and I felt the world reel beneath me.

Then...

An expression of pure shock crossed his face. He stood, frozen thus, for an endless moment. For a moment, the chaos intensified, howling in hellish fury around us. I was knocked once more to my knees, but did not take my eyes off Derry.

Then the maelstrom faded...Derry's knees buckled...the chaos subsided.

The renegade Jedi fell forward on his face. Holmes had made the shot, and taken him straight through the temple.

The revolver lowered, then fell from Holmes' fingers. I hauled myself to my feet yet again. Holmes was, if possible, paler than before, his entire body rigid. He met my gaze, and for a moment his customary mask slipped, and I saw in his eyes the horror he felt at the cold, deliberate murder he had just committed.

"There was no other way," I said softly. "You knew that."

"I know," he whispered. "I knew it from the start."

"You should have let me do it," I told him.

Holmes shook his head, a short, violent movement. "No. You couldn't have made the shot."

He did not say that it was also to protect me, or the innocence he felt I had, that he so cherished and relied upon to keep his perspective true. He didn't have to. Though I knew that I did not really have that innocence, I was well aware of his faith in it, and how important it was to him. In a way, it was a token of how deep our friendship ran, that he was willing to make such a sacrifice for something so very intangible.

There was nothing to say. There had been no other choice–Derry had seen to that. I reached out to grip Holmes' shoulder briefly, wordlessly. He nodded, took a deep breath, and fixed the mask back in place.

We turned to face the Jedi, and the consequences of what Holmes had done.