Sherlock tried not groan as he awoke.

His back was entirely restored, the infection had passed, he propped himself on his elbow with a painful grunt. He was ready to toss the covers off himself when he noticed a blond head lying at his side. It rose and fell, peacefully at rest. Sherlock glanced around the room.

They were quite alone.

He carded his hand through the blond mess, John nestled his palm in his sleep. Sherlock sensed his boy knew even more about his past than before. Sherlock frowned.

What has Rica told him?

He gave a small tug on the forming padawan braid. John shifted and brushed his hand away, Sherlock tickled behind his padawan behind his ear. The boy twitched violently. Sherlock experimented on which spots were most sensitive for the child. His arm pits were extremely effective and rendered the boy helpless. He curled into a ball of furious laughter.

John tried to smack the hands away, but found his arms pinned behind his back. He wriggled against the vice grip as his merciless tickle torture continued. His bright blue eyes shot open, his face light up as he smiled at his cured master. John squirmed out of Sherlock's grasp.

"You are alright."

"Clearly." He tapped the child's head. "Dull observation, little one."

The boy grinned slyly. "Master Rica was right."

"About what, worried one?" Sherlock resisted the urge to gather the child to him. John fidgeted uncomfortably.

"Your attitude of course, Master."

Sherlock scowled. "I suppose she said I would be more impudent? More aggressive? Much angrier?"

"She said it would be much improved. I can say truthfully my master, you do seem less crotchety." The boy said cheerfully. Sherlock could fight it no longer, he scooted to the left and raised his arm invitingly. John crawled into the bed next to his master and rested his head on the strong chest. "I am glad you are alright, Master."

"You didn't think you would get rid of me that easily did you, little one?" He rubbed his chin over the fine hair of his padawan. John curled into a tighter ball in his master's side.

"I…I was slightly worried." The child whispered. "You didn't look very good."

Sherlock collected him against his chest and covered both of them with the blankets. His hand stroked the child's back soothingly. No more words were spoken, no more words were needed. John readjusted himself on his master's chest. He flung his boots off to the side and settled beneath the nape of the young knight's neck. John's thumb strayed towards his mouth as he relaxed.

Sherlock did not correct him.

"Master?"

"Little one?"

"Did you really tell a Sith to buggar off?" John's voice was breathy and childish.

"I vaguely recall telling him off in such a manner." Sherlock mumbled in the boy's hair.

"Fantastic." The boy breathed.

"And not to be imitated." The master forbade.

John snuggled into his chest warmly. He was hiding his smile at the thought of his master's brilliance. He remembered Rica's words. You adore him.

Yes. Take me to court.

He worships you.

Sherlock did not worship him by any means. He curled deeper into the blankets, Sherlock held him around the middle as the older man leaned forward to pull up another blanket. John yawned softly.

"Cold?"

"No." John mumbled sleepily. "Master, may I ask you a question?"

"You already have, dull child."

"Another one?"

"Little one, that was another…"

"Master." The child rebuked.

"What?" Sherlock chuckled.

"Why do you not want me to walk in the traditional manner?" John's eyes were growing heavy.

"Little one, you know enough about my past." Sherlock said firmly.

"I didn't know it was associated with your past." The boy said defensively.

Sherlock rubbed the child's stomach until he was calmed. He thought for a few moments. "The master I had as a child made me walk in that fashion. You shouldn't have to walk behind me, John. You belong at my side."

He worships you.

"Yes, Master." John said contently.

oOo

John wasn't ready to fight two on one.

Mycroft flung the boy back into the wall as Master Plo stuck his saber under John's chin. The child growled viscously when told to yield. Mycroft mused at how much like Sherlock John was becoming. "Let him down, Plo. He won't surrender, and I'd hate to have you mutilate the lad."

Plo deactivated his green blade. John sank slowly to the ground with a snarl on his lips. Mycroft deactivated his own deadly blue saber and turned to his other students. John huffed in annoyance, thoroughly embarrassed at his defeat. Mycroft was asking what exactly John had done wrong. The older students raised their hands.

John tuned them out.

He felt incredibly weak, Sherlock wouldn't have been tossed around in such a manner. Mycroft asked for another volunteer, no one raised their hand. Mycroft was a deadly swords master, he was clearly not one to be bested. Mycroft turned back to John, his lips pulled into a sneer.

"How about you, dear brother? Since you insist on questioning my teaching skills." Mycroft was staring just above John's head. The child froze.

Master?

Sherlock stepped out of the shadows, his dark hair fell into his face. He looked cold, menacing, and most importantly, unafraid of Mycroft. He didn't acknowledge John as he strode past the young boy, his eyes were trained on both masters. The young knight shrugged. "It could be interesting." Sherlock managed to sound completely bored.

Where did he come from?

He pulled off his robe and tossed it in the corner. His saber flew off his belt, but it was not activated. Sherlock cocked his head mockingly, John held his breath.

Plo steadied his blade, the alien master targeted Sherlock's weak spots with his darting eyes. Mycroft leveled his blue blade. Sherlock still remained unmoved, his saber was held loosely in his hand. "First rule, when fighting two on one, prepare to use defense only. At least for the first few moves of the fight." Sherlock said in an uninterested tone.

The other children looked stunned, John nodded seriously. Mike nudged him. "Is that…"

"Shush." John hissed.

Plo charged him first, Sherlock leapt over his head easily in a daring acrobatic flip. Mycroft lunged as Sherlock's feet touched the ground, Sherlock's light blue blade was activated at last and he caught his brother's blade against his own. Plo attacked from the other side, Sherlock ducked and parried. He wasn't even trying to attack.

Are you watching closely, little one?

Sherlock deactivated the saber again. He stayed in the middle of the two master, dancing between the blows until Mycroft's attack at last clipped Plo's arm. The alien master stumbled, Sherlock helped him to the ground with a swift kick to the chest. He activated his light saber and it was a stream of blue blurs between the master and the knight. Sherlock pressed Mycroft back into the group of children. The masses separated.

Sherlock jumped into the air and swung a kick at Mycroft's head. The older Holmes barely had time to duck. The knight clipped Mycroft in the arm and was at the same time jabbed in the knee. He didn't flinch.

Neither did Mycroft.

The group of students stood silent, with their mouths gaping at the knight and master. Sherlock glanced down at his knee, Mycroft at his arm. Both man stood straighter and deactivated their sabers. They bowed respectfully. "Class dismissed." Mycroft stated coldly.

Sherlock walked smoothly pass John without a backward glance, the boy hastened to catch up to the tall man. Mike was right on his heels, already asking questions John found foolish.

"Why isn't he a master?"

"I don't know."

"Can he teach you that?"

"If he knows it, he can teach it, Mikey."

"Why didn't you tell me your master was cool?"

John blushed with pride at the last statement. He made to excuse himself from his friend, but as he turned he realized his master had long since gone. "I hate it when he does that."

The youngsters walked in sync for a short time. John reached out his senses to find Sherlock, the knight shielded from him. John groaned. "Damn it."

John stopped, his senses may not have picked up Sherlock, but something else was coming. Something…unfriendly. John wrinkled his nose in disgust, two padawans were strolling up to them. Mike took a step back in order to let the older children pass politely, but instead they halted in front of John. The girl padawan looked to be twice John's age, and the boy looked twelve.

"Quite a display your master put on Johnny." The female said snidely.

"John." The child said in the same bored tone his master often used. "Thank you, I'll be sure to relay the message."

"Make sure to add my sarcasm, Johnny. I wouldn't want it to go over the freak's head." The female smiled sweetly.

John's hand curled into a tight fist. "Take care of how you speak of one's master." The boy snapped in defense. His anger seethed off of him, causing Mike to flinch.

"Take care of how fond of a Sith you are." She countered.

John's concentration on his breathing was slipping. "The closest thing I have seen to a Sith in my life time is your master Donavon."

"You will not speak ill of my master!" She shouted.

"And you will not speak at all of mine! At least my master has never raised his hand to a child!"

"My master says your master tried to kill her!"

"Of course she would you dull idiot! He was ten, twat!" John had taken up swearing from some of the patrons of Tatooine.

"He was a Sith. The son of a Sith's whore. A child of the da…"

John punched her between the eyes. His control was completely gone, he lunged at her as she fell. The boy padawan quickly began punching the smaller child's back. John kicked him in the groin with all his might. The older boy dropped to his knees. Donavon's padawan had found her footing and struck him across the face. John dropped to his knees, but managed to roll away from her kick. The twelve year old boy caught him under the arm pits and held him tightly. Donavon's padawan hit him about the stomach.

John could hear Mike calling for help. He could feel his ribs cracking, his nose bleeding, his wrist throbbing from where the other boy was twisting it back. John looked the female padawan dead in the eye and spat.

Blood and bile mixed together entered her eyes, she squealed and pulled away. John pulled away from the older boy and stomped on his foot with a satisfying crunch. He darted forward with a fist raise and broke the girl's nose. She crumpled like a sack of bricks. John had every intention of breaking her ribs as he was sure she had broken his, when hands caught him under the arm pits and hoisted him into the air.

He squirmed viscously, screaming that it wasn't his fault. Mycroft was kneeling over the female padawan, Plo was examining the boy. John could feel the unseen master pulling his tunics up to examine the injuries.

Sherlock.

"Master, I…"

"John, shut up."

The child kept obediently silent. His master noted the bruising on his rib cage, his wrists, and the swelling on his face. None to gently, he poked the padawan's ribs. John squeaked. Sherlock set him back down on the floor harshly. John cringed, he knew his leg must have been kicked as well as pain shot through it.

"How is she?" His master asked Mycroft.

"Out cold. He?"

"Broken ribs, bruised tendons in the wrist, black eye, bloody nose, and sprained ankle." Sherlock said shortly.

Mycroft frowned. "You sound very at ease with his injuries."

"His healing ability will take care of it." Sherlock glowered at his padawan. "And he started the fight."

John bowed his head in shame. "I was provoked."

"He means he is sorry." Sherlock said shortly. He turned on his heel without a movement to call John with him. The boy followed closely anyway.

Two steps back and to the left.

He didn't deserve to be at his master's side.

Sherlock led him down to their quarters, not even bothering to check if John's ankle was allowing him to keep up. John limped pathetically behind. He waited for Sherlock to rebuke him, yell, insult him, but nothing came.

And that hurt him the most.

Once inside their quarters John limped into his bedroom and flung himself down. Sleeping would help him heal and with so many injuries it would take him at least three days to be back to normal. He buried his face in his pillow and prayed for solace. Sherlock let him be for hours.

As the clock stuck time for supper John exited. His master was on the mats, kneeling and meditating deeply. John knelt across from him.

"Did you think I would be proud of your actions today, youngling?" His master didn't open his eyes.

"No, Master." John took a deep breath in and closed his own eyes.

"Then I ask you why you felt the urge to punch your fellow padawan in the nose?" Sherlock took a steading breath in.

"She insulted you, Master." John answered bluntly.

"And?"

"I was offended, naturally."

"Why?"

John blinked in confusion. Sherlock still hadn't opened his eyes, he was breathing deeply.

"Because she called you…"

"Yes?"

"A freak." The boy said harshly.

"What is the definition of freak, youngling?"

"An abnormal being, Master." John wanted his master to open his eyes and either rebuke him or comfort him. At last the blue eyes opened and looked unwavering into his. He rose for a medical kit and came back with ointment in hand. He started below John's swelling eye.

"Am I normal, John?" He applied the ointment to a small cut.

"Of course not, Master." The boy huffed.

"Then why did you take offense to a factual statement? Why did you take offense to her insulting me, when I am clearly unbothered by it?"

John faltered. Sherlock made him sound so stupid, so inexperienced. He bowed his head. "I don't know, Master…"

Sherlock cupped his cheek in his hand. "Shirt off. Let me get to your ribs." The boy obeyed painfully. Sherlock examined the bruised area. "You offended my teachings today by thinking that was acceptable, John. So no. I will not comfort you, you must stop looking at me like you expect it."

The child hiccupped. "Yes, Master." John stood silently as Sherlock poked him mercilessly. He twisted wildly as Sherlock tried to medicate a particularly sore bruise. John hissed through his clenched teeth. "Master, may I sit? My ankle…"

Sherlock hooked him under the arm pits and hoisted him into the air. John immediately wrapped his arms and legs around Sherlock's body. The knight sat him gently into a rocking chair and pried the boy's arms from around his neck. He knelt at the child's feet and began reinforcing the thin ankle with bandages. "Master, what do I do when people say cruel things? I don't understand."

"Little one, do you wish to know the secret to pissing others off?" The master inquired seriously. The child leaned forward and nodded. Sherlock stared him dead in the eyes. "You must agree with them."

"What? You want me to agree that my master is a freak?" The child recoiled.

"I agree with it." Sherlock said solemnly.

"They called you a Sith, Master!" John shouted.

"Twenty-two years ago they were not wrong."

"Master!"

Sherlock tapped his knee aggressively. John grabbed his fingers. The knight glared at him until the child bowed his head. "Agree with them and you will see."

John continued to cling to his fingers. "I…"

"If you hit another person in my defense they will take you away from me." Sherlock said bluntly. "Padawan, this aside I would rather be mocked than allow you to hit someone. It is a dark road you go down if that is your response to things you do not agree with. They…they only say things like that because they don't understand. But you do, John." He cupped his padawan's cheek and wiped away forming tears. "Promise me no more."

"Yes, Master."

"The words, little one."

"I promise."

They placed their foreheads together softly, neither one of them noticing the hidden master that watched them in the doorway. Mycroft backed out slowly without alerting either Jedi to his presence. He had gone in search of discipline, and left satisfied John would never hit anyone unjustly again.

"Master….will you find your reed pipes? I had a dream, you are supposed to play them again."

Sherlock nodded against the young forehead in agreement. Truth be told he missed playing. "Are you hungry?"

"Dull observation, Master." The padawan mocked.

"Insolent barve."

"Am I forgiven?" The child asked cheekily.

"The moment the deed was over."