John was starting to enjoy Mycroft's company.

Sherlock was thoroughly disgusted.

The elder master had begun teaching one of John's classes shortly after they arrived. Sherlock still hadn't been permitted to leave for Tatooine, but his contacts were keeping him well up to date and his research on the blood crystal kept him somewhat occupied. He peered at through one of the temple's forcescopes. Dark energy rolled off the blasted thing like steam off of boiling water. John was saying something.

"Master? Master?"

Sherlock tore his gaze from the scope. "How long have you been here?"

"About half a standard hour." The boy said resentfully.

"Oh." The master said baffled. He hadn't even sensed the boy.

John was pulling a stool over to sit next to his master. He chewed at his bottom lip nervously, Sherlock frowned heavily. "What, little one?"

"Master Mycroft thinks I'm ready to spar two on one." John said rapidly. "He says that is advanced for an eight year old, but I was wondering what you thought?"

"Why would I have a problem with it?" Sherlock demanded. "Clearly you are ready for it, unless you are looking for praise it shouldn't have been brought to my attention."

Currently it had been "Master Mycroft says, Master Mycroft said". Sherlock could feel unwelcomed jealousy welling in his chest. Mycroft had been in the most inconvenient places since the council elected to keep John with Sherlock. The knight was no fool, Mycroft was supposed to take John on as his learner.

Ha.

The child's shoulders slumped in submission. He rested his arms listlessly on the table and placed his chin in his hands. "I wasn't looking for your praise…. But Master Mycroft says it's something to be proud of."

"Then go be his padawan." Sherlock snapped from his scope. John gaped at him in terror, Sherlock glared at the crystal. His expression was violent.

"Out of the lab." He growled.

He shepherded the boy out of the lab. John looked back at the abandoned crystal, he glowered at the blood red glow. He wanted to kick Sherlock in the shins, demand an apology, hiss, and spit.

Sherlock slammed the door to the lab, and John immediately calmed. The tension had been so thick his light saber wouldn't be able to cut it. Sherlock took slow deep breaths, he placed a stern hand on his padawan's back. The master guided air into the boy's lungs, forcing him to breathe deeply. John exhaled through his nose.

"Little one, breathe deeper." His tone was already softer than it had been. Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose. John blinked rapidly.

"I was irritated, Master." John confessed instantly.

"Did my attitude suggest I was any different? It was the crystal, John. It is laced with dark energy." Sherlock leaned against the wall in pure exhaustion. He remembered the feeling of the horrid crystal as a boy. It wore him down to the core, John leaned into his side, his master's half of the bond was seeping with fatigue.

Sherlock scratched the back of the child's neck slowly. It was his way of apologizing for the Mycroft insult, and it was easily accepted as John turned his head. He guided the elder to his favorite spots gratefully.

Sherlock winced, his back pained him as he pulled himself away from the wall. John watched his master straighten himself sorely, his back was bleeding through his bandages and tunics.

"Master!"

"I'm fine. I've shut off the pain, it…"

"Master, please! I can sense the infection, you said pride is not a tolerable trait in a Jedi."

Sherlock snorted. "My little healer."

John had recently announced his ambition to become a Jedi field healer. Sherlock pressed his head against the smooth wall, John was not wrong about the infection. "I'm fine."

John opened his mouth, but was stopped by a raised eyebrow and a pained look. There was no way to make Sherlock see reason, his master was a stubborn man when it came to pain. John noted in some cases Sherlock's ability to prolong pain was a blessing, it allowed his master to grab low set light sabers by the blade.

But as blood seeped through his tunic the master looked ready to drop from exhaustion.

"Master, please let me take you to the healers." The boy begged. "I could throw the biggest tantrum until you do."

Sherlock carded his hand through the fuming padawan's hair. The young padawan growled audibly, his temper began to grow fervently. Sherlock gripped the child's hair at its base and jerked. "Yield my little one."

"I will yield when your stubbornness ceases my master. You need a healer." The child tugged unconsciously at his own sleeves, John's nervous tick. He wished there was a way to transfer his healing capabilities to his master. John received an extra strong tug from Sherlock. "Master Mycroft would go to the healers."

"Then that settles it, little one. The healers are only for idiots and power hungry morons, I shan't go."

The child grumbled in exasperation, his master was walking towards the lift without him. John sprinted to catch up with the young knight's stronger stride. The curly haired Jedi braced himself against his strong arms, the child pulled a water packet from his belt. He handed it to the older Jedi tenderly. Sherlock ripped it open with his teeth as lift pressurized and shot into the air. Sherlock drank it down.

"Master…"

"Padawan, enough."

"You are sick. There is no shame in that!"

"Could be worse." The master defended quietly. He leaned against the lift's interior and closed his eyes.

"You have an infection." The little boy sounded dangerously like his idol. He spoke with a tone that declared Sherlock an idiot, unworthy of the term Jedi. "You said healers are for idiots. Ignoring an infection is idiocy, Master."

The lift released them onto the main floor, Sherlock glared at the bold boy. "Are you calling your master senseless, loathsome child?"

"Yes, Master." The child lifted his chin defiantly.

"What gives you such boldness, brat?" The master was rushing to the quarters.

"Jedi do not lie, Master."

The young knight snorted, John caught his sleeve and pulled on it. Sherlock could sense a plan brewing in John's overactive head, he barely managed to yank his arm away when out of the corner of his eye he saw familiar long hair and friendly grey eyes. The child raised his voice to a loud roar. "Master Qui Gon!"

Sherlock took off in a dead sprint that was interrupted by a long arm extending in front of him. Grey eyes looked down on him with amusement, Sherlock grimaced as another wave of pain shot through his back. John reattached himself to his master's sleeve.

"John, let it die." He hissed.

"Never."

"Laps."

"Worth it."

"No sparring for a week."

"You'd get bored."

"Fifty republic credits."

"Jedi don't take bribes."

John pulled on Qui Gon's cape until the tall man leaned over to hear the child better. John swiftly explained Sherlock injuries, all though the events that led up to the injuries were excluded. Qui Gon raised his eyebrows as the child finished.

"Well that won't do." The tall master smiled. He cupped the child's cheek in his broad hand. "Why don't I help you escort your master to the healers?" He leaned forward with a wink. "I have binders on my belt if he gives us too much trouble."

It turned out Sherlock didn't need the binders.

The tall master's presence was enough.

Sherlock refused to look John in the eye. The child squirmed uncomfortably as they entered the medical bay. "It's not like I've led you to a Sith."

"I wish you had." The young knight grumbled.

The healer's doors opened wide, revealing the back of Sally Donavon's dark hair. John froze as he realized what he had done. Sherlock hissed across their bond, John absent mindedly put his tiny boot on Sherlock's large one. The child applied comforting pressure.

Qui Gon quirked his eyebrows. "You've told him?"

"He has been informed, as I promised." The young man mumbled. Qui Gon gave his shoulders a soothing squeeze.

"He is a smart lad, I told you." Qui Gon patted the young man's shoulder despite his growl and exited the medical bay. The padawan cocked his head to the side in question. Sherlock pulled the rough material of John's hood over the child's eyes.

"Don't do that." He chuckled.

"Why, Master?"

"You look like me." He accused.

The boy beamed. He placed both feet on Sherlock's large boots and tried to balance. His master wiggled his feet and tried to knock the boy off. John giggled until Sally turned. Sherlock snarled softly, John gave him a surprisingly stern look for a padawan.

Sherlock stopped snarling.

"What can I do for you, Knight Holmes?" She asked sarcastically.

"Where is Rica?" Sherlock asked heatedly.

"She is with a patient."

"I can wait."

John nudged him insistently. Sherlock shoved him rudely, the padawan stumbled away from him and into the legs of a beautiful, tall woman. She had short, croppy blond hair, intelligent blue eyes, and a freckled nose. She raised her eyebrows and gave the boy a small smile. John ran to Sherlock.

"Hello Curly." She said happily.

Sherlock scowled at her. "Please don't."

"I forgot, you hate that." And to John's great surprise she ruffled his master hair. Sherlock twisted from under her hand, he glared at John until the padawan dropped his gaze. "What is it this time, Curls? Another broken bone? Or did you fall off another building."

"Kriff off." Sherlock snapped.

"He's got an infection on his back." John said shyly. "He got hurt about four days ago and wouldn't come in."

Rica made a hand motion, when Sherlock refused to move she grabbed the base of his ear and yanked him forward. He snarled, his padawan followed closely behind the two adults. Goose flesh began appearing over Sherlock's elbows, his body was rigid and unforgiving. Rica led him into a small patient's quarters.

"Shirt off, let me assess you."

Reluctantly the young knight pulled off his shirt, blood soaked bandages covered his muscular back. The beautiful healer offered no reassurance, no comfort as she pulled off the bandages. Sherlock was business to her, if she allowed herself to feel affection for a patient they would only suffer. She could not afford to have her judgment impaired. "Those look like electric whip lashings."

The humiliated turned his head towards his friend. He nodded solemnly. Rica pulled gloves onto to her slight hands, she applied minor pressure to the infected area. "How?"

"Tell you later." He glanced towards John. The padawan immediately had tears spring into his sky blue eyes. John pressed himself into Sherlock's leg as he was examined. The master did not comfort, but did not push him away.

"Who is this?" Rica asked as she cleaned away some of the pus. She eyed John with mild interest. Her friend had been gone four months and was not one to pick up pathetic life forms.

"John, Rica. Rica, John." Sherlock inhaled through his teeth. The pain was excruciating, John whimper as the aching was shared across their bond. Sherlock bit through his lip. "Little one, go to your class."

"Master, my classes are over for this day."

Sherlock grunted painfully. "Go find Qui Gon."

"Why?"

"John." He said firmly.

"Master Rica, may I stay with him? Please." John begged. He buried his face into Sherlock's leg, the young knight pushed him away gently.

"John, go."

"Master Rica?"

"John, my padawan is tending to a patient. Why don't you go introduce yourself?" Rica asked kindly as she began draining pus from the gashes. "Stupid barve. You should have come in sooner."

"Yes, Master." Sherlock moaned mockingly.

John's hand was still wrapped tightly in his master's pant leg, John felt protectiveness form deep within him. His eyes blazed as his master gave him an unyielding glare. John reasserted himself on the young knight's boots. "Please." He whimpered.

"Go." Sherlock heaved the child off his boots. Ignoring the discomfort in his back Sherlock bent forward and placed his forehead tenderly on his padawan's. "Go, John."

John wiped his nose childishly. "I don't wanna."

"I don't want you in here." Sherlock said harshly.

John bowed his head. "Yes, Master." The child was clearly miserable. He stumbled out of the healer's room, crying silently. Sherlock let out a low hiss.

"Oh very good." Rica chided him.

"He can feel my pain when he's in the same room." Sherlock snapped. "I can't shield from him, not feel pain, and focus on a healing trance."

"You shouldn't try to shield from him so much." Rica guided him to a medical bed. "Down. Hold still."

Sherlock growled. "I submit to your commands, oh wise Master." His sarcasm caused the young woman to crack him across the back of the skull. He hissed. "For Force sake woman!" He grabbed her wrist tightly. They paused. Gradually he rolled up her tunic's sleeve, long burn marks covered her skin from her elbow the wrist. She took his hand away gently. Sherlock growled guiltily at the injuries.

"Curls, you are going to have to go into the tank." Rica muttered as she laid Sherlock down on his stomach. He closed his eyes in pain.

"No."

"Yes."

"Rica."

"Curly."

"I won't."

"Don't move."

She pricked his upturned arse with a sedation needle. He snarled viciously. She stuck him again, his body didn't react.

"Stop whining, hundark." She ruffled his hair.

"I am going to bite your arm off." He snarled. "I am for from the planet Goria. My animal instincts will kill…"

She stuck him none to gently again.

"Obviously you are mad."

"Clearly."

"I need to go into a healing trance. I am having difficulty shielding from, John."

"He seems like a nice boy, he is very attached to you."

"That is not necessarily a good thing if he insists on feeling my pain."

Sherlock lay so silently Rica assumed the sedation needles had worked. He took a deep breath, letting the healing trance was deeply over him. She began prepping him for the bacta tank, tension rolled off of him like fog over a lake. It took her twenty standard minutes to attach the proper cords, and IV needles. He shook his head in irritation. "I can't shield from him." Ten minutes later the knight was hissing violently. "Rica."

"I feel them."

Sherlock made a frantic hand gesture and two guilt ridden padawans fell from the air vents. John and a little burnet girl landed in a heap on the ground. His padawan had the audacity to look furious. "You shielded from me?"

"You shield from me, do not pretend otherwise." Sherlock growled.

"Not when I'm in pain! You forbade it!" John shouted.

"I am the master, you are the padawan!" Sherlock snarled. "Do not forget your place again, young one."

John exhaled in a huff. "I have not forgotten my place. Two steps behind you and to left isn't that right?"

"I have never asked you to do that." Sherlock's voice was laced with pain. He took another deep breath in. His flattened his palms and pushed himself to look at the little boy, his hand wrapped around the back of his padawan's head, his fingers curled in his hair. He pulled the boy's forehead to his. "You will not feel this, John. That is the reason I took your lashings."

"You should have gone to the healer sooner." John mumbled. He felt his master's thumb run over base of his neck. He peeked at Rica and Mary, Sherlock was being comforting. In front of people.

"You are right." Sherlock mumbled.

"What is wrong with my master?" John asked horrified.

"He has taken enough sedatives to drop a gundark. He is stubborn even in the face of sedation, your master."

Rica ran a hand over Sherlock's face. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, his body slumped forward into the pillows with a shaken breath. His hand fell from John's neck, the boy took a frightened step back. "Is he alright?"

"He is going into the bacta tank and then he will be fine. Though he is going to be extremely uncomfortable for the next few hours. That is the price he will pay for not coming in sooner."

John whimpered. "I told him to."

Rica fitted a breathing mask over Sherlock's mouth and nose. John tapped on his master's knee anxiously, Mary rolled in a hover stretcher, John gave a small cry as Rica loaded his master on to the transporter. She allowed the padawan to follow closely at her heels, he was so young.

And so attached to Sherlock.

"He will be okay?"

"Yes."

"What is wrong with him?"

"There is an infection in his kidneys and liver. The bacta will take care of it, but he is very ill."

The boy reached for his master's fingers, but stilled himself. Sherlock had taught him well, he merely grabbed the side of the hover stretcher. "But he will be okay?"

"Yes." Rica directed the stretcher into a bacta room. She pressed buttons in sequence, the stretcher shuddered aggressively. John stepped away from it reluctantly, but not before pressing his forehead against Sherlock's chest.

"Be well again, Master."

Rica took him gently by the shoulder and pulled him away from the stretcher. The child watched as his teacher was lowered into a tank of sludge substance. It parted as the body was dropped into its core and formed back around him in a tight cocoon. John presses his fingers against the tank, he was crying. "He isn't meant to look like that."

Sherlock floated in suspended animation and to John looked dangerously close to being dead. "He isn't meant to look sick, or hurt. He's supposed to look cocky or strong. My master is not weak."

Rica gave his shoulder a light squeeze. "He is strong, John. I have never seen a stronger man, a stronger Jedi, than your master."

"This is the worst day of my life." John sobbed.

"He will come through, little one."

John shook his head. "Please don't call me that. Forgive me, Master."

"Does it offend you, John?" She asked carefully.

"No, but…" It was what Sherlock called him. It was special, he refused to let anyone else address him as such.

"You adore him." It was a statement.

"Don't tell him. He'll never let me hear the end of it." John pulled a stool up to the tank. He had the need to be close to his master.

"He adores you."

"You heard him yell at me. There's no adoration in his heart."

"John, why did your master want you out of the room?"

"I bore him." The miserable response. "I try to keep interesting so he won't…I try to be good. I make him mad when I talk about Master Mycroft, but only because I want him to know how good I do when he isn't around."

"That man worships you. Not many people can read the great Sherlock Holmes, but we were children together. I know him better than anyone, he could hardly stand it when he realized you were feeling his pain."

John looked apprehensive. "Perhaps…Were you one of the Dark Acolyte's my master saved?"

"Rude."

John blushed. "Forgive me, Master. Sherlock is blunt and is passing on his habits."

She laughed. "With logic like that, how can I not forgive you? Yes, young one. I was. He has saved me many a time when we were children. And I him." She tentatively reached to stroke the child's hair. He accepted her warm touch. "Has he told you anything about his past?"

"He showed me a dream." The boy said defensively. "I know what he was thought to be."

"A Sith." She said softly, poking his wound.

"He isn't." John shoved away the verbal fingers.

"He was." Another jab.

"He was alone." A block.

"Because his former master kept him that way. Alone is the way of the Sith." An uncounterable punch.

"He is a good man." A sloppy attack.

"But not a great man." The finishing blow.

"He is to me." The boy said meekly. "He is to me."

Slowly the female master smiled, she drew John into her side. "He is to me too. But if you say anything it shall be denied."

"Yes, Master." The child whispered. John snuggled into her side, the female knight's tunic sleeve slipped pass her elbow. John's eyes widened at the burns that revealed themselves. Rica rearranged the sleeve to cover the old scars.

"Healed wounds." She smiled. "Nothing to be angry with anymore."

Something was wrong. John could feel the Force pushing him to gently pull the sleeves up again. They were old burn marks, maybe twenty years or older. They were clearly light saber burns…

"My master did this." John said appalled. He could feel it, Sherlock's Force signature was branded in the arms. She took him by the shoulders, her slender fingers caught his chin. She made him look at her deadly gaze.

"Yes. But he did not do it willingly. Understand that John, he was forced. Don't ever think ill of him because of his childhood. He never wanted to hurt anyone." She gripped his chin with more pressure. "He never wanted to hurt people."

John had been Sherlock's padawan for over a month. The lineage of his curiosity was clearly passed from master to student. "Tell me what happened."

"He said no." She said quietly. "No one ever says no to Moriarty, no one who wanted to live says no. Your master was told punish the disobedient children as an act of loyalty to his new master. Sherlock told him to buggar off. Your master told a Sith to buggar off."

John sat completely rigid. His eyes were wide as he allowed himself to be mesmerized by the tale. He rose to place his hand against the tank's clean glass.

"It angered him naturally. He made Sherlock wear a blood crystal over his bare skin and instructed him to beat us. Sherlock was only nine. He couldn't fight the affects, he burned my arms with his saber. He never forgave himself."

"He blames himself for lots of stuff." John said softly.

"Yes. Right now he blames himself for your pain."

"He shouldn't."

"He will. For the rest of his life, he will blame himself for whatever misfortune falls on you."

"Why?"

"You are Sherlock's padawan. One day you will figure it out."