"I said no, padawan."

"And I asked why, Master."

"You should simply accept my answer, padawan. It is a closed discussion." The master preformed attack parry number six, John countered with a swift defense parry number four. Sherlock leveled his saber, John lunged with attack parry five. Sherlock swatted him on the hindquarters as he sidestepped, the child howled in mock rage. Sherlock snickered as the child rubbed his backside sorely.

"Master, I have driven the speeder before." The child whined. He regained his footing on a loose pole.

"You can't even reach the pedals, John. How do you expect to pilot a cruiser alone?" Sherlock steadied his deadly blue blade in his padawan's face, the boy deflected it away.

"Master, it's no different than pod racing on Tattooine!"

"When have I ever allowed you to pod race, little one?" Sherlock leapt from pole to pole. The ground was littered with different sized balancing rods, John nearly lost his equilibrium. The child hopped on the tallest one available and glared his master straight in the eye.

"The other younglings are…"

"I thought you did not want to be associated with the term "youngling". I also remember closing this conversation." Sherlock flipped over the boy's head easily. John twisted in time to receive a burning slash to his barely healed ankle. It had been a week, but the tendons and muscles refused to heal. He crumpled to the ground with a loud yelp. "The answer is no, John. You are forbidden to race on the outskirts of Coruscant. If the others are doing it, it is under their caretakers' awareness."

"Geedo said Master Anderson said…"

"All the more reason for the answer to remain as no." Sherlock said firmly. "And I will inform Anderson of such rumors."

"You are so…!"

"Responsible? Caring? Correct? Away with you my padawan. You are beginning to bore me." Sherlock waved him away carelessly. The child had been fussing over the alleged cruiser race all evening, Sherlock's already thin patience was cracking. He deactivated his saber.

His padawan set his jaw and clambered back onto his pole. "Master Qui Gon said you used to race cruisers all the time!"

"As I recall I was sixteen and able to reach the pedals. And my master made sure I paid for it for the next few weeks." Sherlock scratched the back of his head with his saber hilt. John turned his head away from his master bitterly.

"I only wanted to try."

"John you are eight. Eight. You must stop trying to grow up so fast." Sherlock pulled his robe across his shoulders silently, aware of John's disappointed gaze. "My answer should be enough for you."

"Yes, Master." John said quietly.

"You will have to eat supper at the dining hall tonight."

"Yes, Master."

"John, I mean it. Stay away from the elder younglings if this is the games they play."

"Yes, Master."

Sherlock came to rest in front of John's towering pole. He motioned for the boy to lean over, their foreheads touched. John did not relax any as brow met brow. Sherlock could sense conflict within the young boy's thoughts.

John had never struggled with obedience before.

They needed to get away from Coruscant.

"Go." He stated quietly.

John bowed low to him and scurried away. Sherlock watched him go with a low sigh, the boy was as readable as an archive.

He was going to the race.

oOo

"You're word."

"Of course."

"The words." Sherlock's padawan demanded. The aura of authority circled the boy's head, he was in a dangerous mood for a young Jedi.

"I give you my word I will no longer speak ill of your master if you win." The girl held out her hand with a cocky grin. "And you give your word if you lose, you will serve me obediently until you are knighted." A treacherous thing to bet one's freedom, John hesitated.

Mike shook his head fiercely. A pleading look spread across the worried child's face. "John, don't. Your master will be cross."

"I give you my word." John shook her hand firmly.

"John…" Mike whispered.

John was already boarding his adjusted cruiser, he threw Mike an angry look. "He won't be cross if you don't say anything. Mike, I'm sick of them insulting my master." He ran his hand over the controls, the cruiser roared to life. Mike stepped back in fright. John's eyes trained on the female's cruiser, he gave a silent vow to win.

"Sherlock will find out." Mike protested.

"He won't if you don't tell him." John snapped.

"John, people die!"

"My master may be able to deflect their comments, but they bother me." John said firmly. "He is a good man."

"If you know that why must you prove it? Please John, this is hazardous! You have to beat everyone, not just Frida! You'll be a slave."

John hesitated. His fingers drummed over the steering gears, he had heard rumors of people dying in crashes, or people who had mysteriously vanished. He sighed softly.

"You don't understand, Mikey. I may be eight, but I can handle myself. Sherlock taught me a lot. And I am willing to do anything to get my master's name cleared." John trained his eyes towards the starting line where other competitors were lining up.

"And you seriously think driving a dangerous race will clear my name, padawan mine?" A deep voice said deadly above him. John gripped the steering wheel until his fingers were stark white. He glared angrily at Mike.

"You told." He hissed.

The youngster dipped his head in a nod. "People die, John. And you're younger than me. Elders protect…"

"Shut up, Mike." John snapped. He refused to look at Sherlock. "You wouldn't understand what it's like to have someone say awful things about your master. It is undeserved cruelty."

"The only underserved cruelty I have endured today is your disobedience. And yes I do know. Get out of the cruiser, John. This race isn't worth the punishment I'd have for you."

"It is to me." The child said softly.

"Is it? Whatever you have bet young Donavon's padawan will be carried out, I assure you. You will do whatever she has claimed you'd do if she were to win."

John gaped at him. "Master, please…"

"Out of the cruiser, John, I will not tell you again." Sherlock said coldly.

"How does this not hurt you?" The boy demanded.

"Because they are unintelligent and do not understand. You on the other hand have a perfect grasp on my past, one that I've only ever shared with one other person. You of all people should understand that I do not care what uncivilized buffoons think of me and until you proved to be one of them I cared what you thought, but if this…" He waved his hand towards the cruiser. "I told you not to solve your issues in this manner." Sherlock glared across to the starting line with a small sigh. "Perhaps Mycroft is right. I am ruining you."

"Master!" The young sob. "I didn't solve it with violence. I didn't, I swear, but they insulted Master Qui Gon and Rica and I…"

"We will discuss it back at our flat." Sherlock cut him off shortly.

Sherlock folded his arms in his sleeves, if the boy defied him any farther it would not end well. The boy recognized the dangerous look across his master's face and killed the engine. He remained in the seat, defiance danced across the bond. Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "Do you require help out, padawan?"

John vaulted out of the cruiser easily, he didn't look at Mike as he stalked pass in quiet fury. He limped angrily a head of his master, not once looking back to see where his fellow padawan was. Sherlock's frown deepened.

This could not carry on.

John continued to stalk a head of his master until their quarters were reached. Sherlock opened the door with a stiff wave of the hand. John stomped his way into the kitchen and yanked out a water packet. Sherlock shed his robe and remained silent.

His being in conflict with itself.

He was ruining John.

But the child was that. A child.

He could not continue to have such an attitude and be a great Jedi.

And if Sherlock was the one teaching him, who was to say the attitude wouldn't escalate.

He needed to meditate.

"I was trying to make you proud." John's anger broke through the silence.

Sherlock turned to his padawan with a disapproving glare. "Congratulations. You have failed. Miserably."

"So it is like every other day then?" The child was enraged.

"You will not throw this at me, padawan." Sherlock said thunderously. "You know I care for you. Do not pretend otherwise."

"It is not I who pretend otherwise, Master. I do not hide my pride when I feel it as you do."

"No. You punch padawans' noses or run off to get yourself killed." Sherlock said venomously.

"You act as though your pride in me is shameful!" The child raged.

"I said I care for you." Sherlock said coldly. "I never said I was proud of you."

He successfully crushed the boy's soul to bits. John bowed his head, his worst fears confirmed. Sherlock froze at his hateful words.

"I didn't mean that." Sherlock looked at John with pain in his eyes. "John, I did not mean that at all."

John took a step away from him, tears glistened on his cheeks. "Yes you did, Sherlock." He ran into his room without a backwards glance. Sherlock let out a howl of pain that sounded like a wounded animal. He dropped to his knees, his cheeks flushed with the rage he felt towards himself.

He didn't have friends.

He had one.

And now maybe he was gone as well.

Sherlock stared at John's door, praying that the child would come out and all would be forgiven as it always was. But this time Sherlock had crossed a line.

He could feel the child desperately trying to shield from him, but the effort was wasted as the child's distress brought down his own defensive walls. Sherlock dropped his shields completely, he wanted John to feel his pain. To know that his master loved…

Oh.

Sherlock clutched at his kriffing heart.

This had to stop.

He stalked into the kitchen and pressed a small button under the sink. A secret drawer revealed itself and in it Sherlock's most precious treasure.

Aside from the sobbing child in the opposite room.

He didn't dare knock on the boy's door, for fear of rejection. Slowly, silently, he pushed it open. John's face was buried deep into a pillow, but the corners were flushed a deep scarlet from crying so hard. His tiny body tremble. His master's robe that he often slept with was thrown on the other side of the room. His teddy bear was crushed beneath the child's strangling arm. He shook his head as Sherlock entered.

"Go away."

"John…" The master said softly. "It was an angry retort. Nothing more."

"Leave me be, please. Go away." He cried.

"Do you believe me, little one?"

"No. Please leave." John said more firmly. Although his voice hitched and broke his master's heart.

Sherlock moved to the side of his bed fluidly. "It is time for you to sleep." He said, pleading the child gave him permission for their night ritual. No matter how enraged the other was, Sherlock always tucked John into bed for the night.

"I am too old for tuck ins, Sherlock. I wish to be left alone, please." John hiccupped loudly. Sherlock hid the pain that flashed through him with the grace of a Jedi.

"Very well." He said softly. He played with the end of his pipes tenderly. The day he received them had been the third worst day of his life, topped by Lestrade's passing. The day he gave them away would be his first. He knelt at John's side, the child did not stir. Sherlock didn't expect to have the pleasure of seeing the bright blue eyes.

He laid the reed pipes near John's hand. The child did not even give him the courtesy of a squirm. He lay completely rigid.

"They are yours. Little one, I beg of you listen to one last lesson. Pride in oneself is a dangerous thing, it leads to only harm of others. Especially people we care most about. It leads to words we do not mean, in order to maintain dominance. This, I fear, is due to my upbringing and not something I can change. I was touched by your loyalty, truly. I was honored that you cared enough to worry about my feelings. It is a gallantry I am not used to, and I fear I handled it incorrectly. I simply did not want you to feel anger towards others as I did when I was your age. You have every right to be angry with me. But please, John. Let this anger die here. Carry it no farther. And know that even if this my last lesson to you, it was an honor to be your teacher."

John gave a low whimper. "It's not okay…"

"I know, little one." Sherlock bowed his head farther. "I will seek the council for guidance. I am not fit to judge your wellbeing, as I am not used to feelings."

John rolled over and looked at him hard. His tiny fingers traced the reed pipes outline delicately. "What will the council do?"

"Your apprenticeship will be transferred to Mycroft." Sherlock said honestly.

"And you?" John whispered.

Sherlock thought for a moment. "I will resign the Jedi order."

John pulled at his own sleeve. "You should stay."

It broke the young knight's heart to hear John say that instead of denying Mycroft. "It is pointless. There was one person who trusted me here, and I have killed that trust with empty words."

"Empty words hurt just as terribly." John closed his eyes in pain. Pain that Sherlock caused.

"Especially when they come from people we care about." Sherlock wanted to put his forehead to John's, but refrained. "I will speak to Yoda about you transfer tomorrow, if the wait is acceptable."

John blinked tears. "My tummy hurts."

Sherlock bit back several retorts about the use of the word "tummy". He reached a timid hand forwards and rested it on the small stomach. "Breathe deeply. It will pass." John nodded and closed his eyes. "It will pass." The master assured.

"Sherlock…" The child reached for him. "Don't quit the order."

"You are too young to understand, my path is tainted." He said softly, rubbing slow circles over the child's stomach. "You will not suffer for my darkness again."

John whimpered softly. The sound of innocence shattering. "Don't leave me."

"I won't until dawn." He promised. Slowly the circles became larger and more soothing. An ancient healer's technic.

The boy shook his head. "Master…"

He was so lost.

Sherlock carefully reached for the pipes. He wet his lips before setting them on the middle pipe. The softest melody ascended from the beautifully crafted pipes. It started low and jumped to high shortly, before sinking back to low again. Sherlock played until the lost look on John's face calmed. He laid the pipes back down next to their new owner.

"Keep them safe for me. Promise?" He whispered.

John answered by handing him his stuffed bear. Sherlock wrapped his hand around the plush doll, John pulled himself closer to the young knight. "I want to stay with you." He whimpered.

"Little one. My little one, you can not. I will only hurt you farther, and I can't take that kind of pain again."

John pressed his forehead against Sherlock's. "I am sorry I disappointed you, Master. Please, don't leave. I'll be good…just don't leave."

"John…" Sherlock was amazed. How could the child blame himself for their argument so fiercely, when it was clearly the elder's fault?

"I'll be good." He swore. "I will be. And one day you will be proud of me. Please stay."

Sherlock brow furrowed in confusion. "Little one, how can you think I am not proud of you? How can you think those words meant anything other than missed place aggression?"

"I am not interesting, nor am I big, or muscular. I barely come up to your waist, I cannot hold my own in a light saber duel. I cry too often, I will never be as smart as you. I…"

Sherlock pulled the child against his chest. "You are only eight, John! You will grow, you will learn. Your size is irrelevant to me, I know I am…I was raising a child into a knight. And yes you do cry too often, but I do not cry enough." He buried his head in the soft blond hair. "And you are less clever than I, but you are so much better. You are the light, little one."

John hugged Sherlock tightly. "You mustn't go. Please. I…I love…"

"Shhh." Sherlock soothed. "Shhh. Shh. Sh."

"I have much to learn." John cried. "I want to learn it from you."

"I hurt you." Sherlock mumbled. "I will never forgive myself for the pain I caused you, little one."

"Master, they are healed wounds." John buried his face in Sherlock's neck.

"If they transferred your apprenticeship what would you do, little one?" Sherlock was testing him. If he responded with run away or anything similar Sherlock would have to give the boy up.

"I would accept your judgment, Master. And I would be respectful." John sniffed loudly. "But I would miss you."

Sherlock gathered the boy closer to him. "I am proud of you, little one."

"I am proud of you, Master." The child repeated.

"I am still disappointed in your decision to go today." Sherlock had to remain the responsible one. It was not something that could be ignored.

"I humbly apologize for handling the situation poorly, Master." John said into his neck. "And I am still frightened that you are not proud of me."

Sherlock placed a long kiss on the boy's smooth brow. "I will do what I can to ease that fear, my little one."

John nuzzled his chest. "You will not leave me?"

"Not until you tell me to go." He promised.

"Never." The boy swore. He wiggled back into his bed and waited patiently for a tuck in. Sherlock slid next to him and felt the boy curl into a ball at his side. He ran his fingers softly over the small back.

"Will you allow me to speak to Qui Gon about this, little one?" He asked softly.

"Why, Master?"

"I wish to make sure my decision is based on what is right for you and not my attachment." Sherlock collected the ball against his side and curled tightly around the small figure.

"I suppose so…yes. I am terrified of what he might say." The boy said truthfully.

"As am I, my little one. As am I."