"I don't think you should keep them apart like this."

"Master Jinn, I respect you as my elder, now respect me as the senior rank. A sick child is an easy thing to get attached to, and John is far from healthy." Mycroft said firmly.

Qui Gon frown lines deepened. "If you think they are not attached already you are mistaken, young one." Qui Gon stressed the last words. His experience was far vaster than that of a master who had only one padawan that had passed. "The boy is frightened and neither of us will calm him like Sherlock will."

Mycroft straightened himself in the co-pilot seat, his fingers ghosted over the ships controls. "My former master would have left me alone, frightened or no."

Qui Gon rested a steady hand on the young man's shoulders. "Dooku is not someone I recommend taking teaching lessons from. Trust me."

Both masters sat in a meditated silence for a short amount of time. Mycroft shifted uneasily under Qui Gon's watchful eye, the elder master gave a long sigh. "I am going to call Obi Wan. No telling what sort of trouble that young man has gotten himself into in my absence."

"Master Jinn." Mycroft spoke firmly, Qui Gon turned. "Please inform my brother I will give him half an hour to make sure his padawan has eaten. It is another seventeen hours, I do not want the child to starve."

Qui Gon bowed silently. Sherlock would not pleased, nor thankful. The time allowed was short and sympathetic.

And the poor knight had been prowling the ships corridors since he regained consciousness. He wanted his padawan, he wanted off the damn ship. Qui Gon found him sulking against a wall with his feet heavily bandaged. John still had his boots and robe.

Sherlock's ears pricked as he approached. "I want to see him. I'm his master, the boy is beyond frightened, can't you see what's going on?" He raised his voice.

"Your brother has been…kind enough to give you half a standard hour with the boy to make sure he is feed." Qui Gon said carefully. "The food is on the trolley outside his door, you eat something too."

Sherlock opened his mouth in angry protest. Qui Gon held up a silencing hand and pointed in the direction of John's room. The tall master gave a small nod and passed him an access card, before departing to call Obi Wan. Sherlock found his way down to John's room, maneuvering through many different halls, at last one with a trolley in front of it appeared. He grasped the plate of meat and potatoes, John's favorite, and opened the ships door.

John sat up immediately looking quite anxious and quite unrested. His face relaxed when he saw his master, but Sherlock scowled at his apprentice. "You should be sleeping."

John returned the small scowl. "I can't meditate in here. I can't, cause all I can think about…" His voice trailed off, his thought lost in the Force. Sherlock set the food down on the bedside drawer and wrapped a protective arm around the boy. His swelling eye looked terrible.

"I only have half an hour." He felt John leaning into his side. "I'm supposed to get you to eat, and then I shall leave."

"Will you, Master?" The boy sniffed. "Can't you stay?"

Sherlock set a plate of food in John's lap. "Eat."

"Not hungry." The boy said stubbornly, he curled into Sherlock's side. "Tired."

"Your fault."

"Not."

"Could have slept."

"Alone."

"Nightmares?"

"Course."

"About?"

"Needles."

Sherlock pulled the boy into his lap and ran his hands over the child's arms soothingly. He picked up a spoon full of potatoes and pressed against John's lips. The boy opened his mouth slowly, Sherlock splatted the spoonful on his nose. "Am I the type of person who would feed another?" He demanded with a chuckle.

John giggled fiercely and smeared the beef sauce on the elder's cheeks. More food went on their faces, than in the mouths. Eventually John sank his teeth into the meat hungrily, while balancing in Sherlock's lap. The knight ate his meat with much more dignity than that of his padawan. John tore it from the bone with his teeth.

Sherlock chewed a small mouth full while starring down at his apprentice. John was leaning back into his chest, completely unaware of the comfort he brought Sherlock. His master set aside his barely touched food and rested his chin on the blond head. He gave another small nip at John's ear. The child tore off another section of meat. He chewed thoughtfully.

"Master, is Frida going to be okay?"

Sherlock hesitated. He had seen the girl only once since they had left Hoth. Her eyes had been glazed over, and she didn't seem to comprehend anything. Sherlock shook his head. The boy deserved the truth. "No, little one. The machine has ripped apart both their minds."

"Oh." He put his meat down. Sherlock pulled him closer, the child frowned against his chest. "What would have happened to us?"

John whimpered when Sherlock ignored him. The elder truly did not know, but it would not be admitted. He hoisted John into his arms and stroked his back lightly. John curled into a tight ball, a small sigh escaped his lips.

"I only have ten minutes left." Sherlock said stoutly.

John nestled himself in the nape of the knight's neck. "Stay."

"Little one…"

"I won't sleep anyway…if you're not here." John scowled. "Don't tease me, Master, I'm very tired."

Sherlock lay back with John across his chest. He chuckled. "What makes you think I would, John?"

"Just a hunch." The boy mumbled. He fought with unconsciousness, if he slept his master would leave. John clutched hand fulls of Sherlock's tunics and blinked back tears. He was still quite afraid, his master sensed the fear residing in the boy aching stomach and soothed him softly. Sherlock motioned for him to give him his reed pipes. John pulled them out of his inner tunic, where he kept them in his pocket near his heart. He dropped them in his teacher's hand.

The melody was slow and sweet, it remained in the high notes, but would dip every seventh note. John yawned as the music calmed his body. Sherlock ceased playing to John's dismay, the boy felt himself being carried to the rooms door. Sherlock's hand fluttered over the controls professionally. There was a soft click of the lock.

Sherlock grinned, "Lestrade showed me. It should keep Mycroft out for another two hours. He lay both of them on the bed side to side. John rolled so he was facing his teacher. "You need to sleep, little one." Sherlock wiped some of the potatoes away with a smirk.

Foreheads pressed together, and John curled his hand in the fabric of Sherlock's sleeve. The elder carded his hand through John's soft hair. The boy allowed his eyes to close slowly, he felt the light touch of a hand on his back as it pulled him closer. John lay with his forehead pressed against his teachers and his knees in the older man's chest. Quite comfortable for the child and relaxing for the man.

John was safe.

oOo

Mycroft watched them closely.

A perfect window disguised as wall tiles, it was his most favorite invention.

The child could not get close enough to his brother as they slept on the bulky bed, Sherlock's arm was protectively drawn around the boy's middle, while John held onto the elder's bicep tightly. Mycroft could not subdue the feeling of anger in his mind.

The boy was supposed to be his.

Mycroft had observed the child since he had been placed at the temple. The master had taken especial interest in him when his former padawan, Anthea, had passed. John had looked trainable, his posture said future solider, even if his mouth said healer. The boy had been quiet and shy, an easily moldable child.

And Yoda had snatched the chance from under him without a second thought.

His brother was raising one of the most promising knights in the temple and was ruining him. The boy would see no one else if Sherlock was in the room, he followed him with huge, adoring eyes that were supposed to have been for Mycroft. Sherlock's head move forward, and John's brow met his.

Idiotic.

"Jealous is not becoming of a master Jedi." Qui Gon said gently. "Leave them be for another hour. The child is tired and refuses to sleep without his master."

"Then he deserves no sleep." Mycroft said curtly. "Attachment is dangerous, especially to…"

"To?"

Hesitation appeared over Mycroft's face. "Apologies." He bowed.

The elder master quirked an eyebrow. "Tell me."

Mycroft scowled. "To a Sith. The council will not acknowledge it, but Sherlock is not trusted amongst them. Why they ever choose to give John…"

"Because the council does trust him. And Lestrade's choice. Do not mistake the council's wishes for your own, young one. You are still two separate beings, no matter how high your rank. Sherlock was trusted the moment he offered to sacrifice himself for a Lestrade, a man he met once." Qui Gon said calmly, remembering how hard he had struggled to hold Greg down. The younger man had succeeded in breaking two of his fingers.

"They should never have trusted him." Mycroft mumbled. "If he truly wanted to escape he could have simply contacted help."

Qui Gon released a low breath. "You have never seen his back."

Silence.

"Nor Rica's arms."

More silence.

"Mycroft, your brother bares a brand. He could not go on certain planets even when he was Lestrade's padawan, or they would have brought him back to his Sith master. There was never any escape for that boy, no one was coming to the aid of a Sith's slave." Qui Gon hid his shudder by stuffing his arms in his sleeves. He remembered the day Gregory had found out.

"Dooku told me…"

"Meditate on your source, my friend. The first day you met Sherlock he insulted your former master, did he not? There was no love in his heart for that boy." Qui Gon voice was tired. "John is a comfort to him, and Sherlock is raising him well."

"I remember the first day I met him." Mycroft said slowly. "He was ten, only a little, gaunt thing. He followed Lestrade so closely, it was as if he were afraid his master would leave him. He never looked at anyone else, we weren't worthy of his attention." His voice grew farther away. "Dooku stopped Lestrade in the hall, and Sherlock looked so afraid of him. He kept telling Lestrade the white haired man would become a Sith someday."

Qui Gon rested a steady hand on the younger man's shoulders. "I pray his wrong."

Mycroft shrugged. "I thought he was a wretched little thing."

Qui Gon stared through the window and watched as Sherlock's arm moved slowly in his sleep. It involuntarily stroked the young boy's back, John's face appeared to be smiling. "What do you think of him now?"

"It is hard to hate him with John around." Mycroft said softly. "Our master was never a kind man, he never would have done what Sherlock does for John. I find myself believing Sherlock is…better."

Qui Gon gave his shoulder a firm squeeze. "Let them sleep. Fetch them in a few hours, Sherlock believes he is the only one Greg has taught his lock tricks."

"Very well."

oOo

He gave them three hours.

Anger registered across Sherlock's face as he saw the elder master leaning in the doorway with a smug expression. John had yet to sense him and slept on. Sherlock gave a low, possessive growl. Mycroft returned it.

"Your time is six times up." He hissed.

John stirred in Sherlock's arms, his little face was buried deep in the strong chest. Sherlock looked down at the tiny figure, he glared at his brother coldly. "He needs me to sleep."

"He has to learn eventually." Mycroft said coolly. "I highly doubt he will want you this much when he is in his teens."

"He will not be so frightened then." Sherlock countered. "He feels safe, don't be thick enough to think it is I who am attached." He prayed John had not hear his words, the child merely snuggled closer to him. His face softened.

"Clearly not." Mycroft said snidely.

"Shut up."

They glared at each other in silence. The only sound was John's slow breathing.

"Show me your back, and I will give you another two hours." Mycroft said suddenly. Qui Gon's words stuck with him.

Sherlock faltered. Slowly he glanced to John. He supposed the boy was worth reliving the past.

Barely, of course.

"Four, that memory as worth at least four."

Mycroft frowned. "Very well."

Sherlock carefully freed his arm from under John and gradually lifted the back of his shirt. Mycroft stooped low over him, his quick eyes made work of the old scars, the fresh scars, former burn welts, there even looked to be fresh bruises, but no brand. Sherlock dropped his shirt over his scarred back and said nothing.

"You spoke to Qui Gon." He accused softly.

"He told me I needed to acquire more data about you." Mycroft said evenly.

"I hope you've found enough." Sherlock snapped.

"I saw no brand." Mycroft said cautiously. He was surprised to see the younger man flinch.

"Do keep your voice down." He shot John a look, but the boy was blissful ignorant. "The deal was back, not brand." He hissed. "Go away, Mycroft."

"Show me." Mycroft said forcefully. "I can separate both of you now."

Sherlock glared daggers at his brother. "I can't. John is in the way, but if you must stick your fat, poodoo filled nose into it…" Sherlock waved his hand over the older man's face. "Go sleep on it."

oOo

Sherlock and his stupid dream visions.

Mycroft followed a younger, ten year old version of his brother and the boy's tall master down the hall. Sherlock's young stride was barely enough to keep with Lestrade's, he continuously tripped as he scrambled behind him. Lestrade glanced down as if remembering for the first time he had a padawan now. He chuckled. "Whatcha doing down there, Curly?"

Sherlock shot him a scowl. "Trying to keep up." He mumbled angrily.

"Come here then." Lestrade laughed as he pulled the boy in front of him. "Now you walk and I'll keep up with you, alright?"

Sherlock looked completely caught off guard. "I'm supposed to walk behind you. It's a sign of respect and…"

"Kid, just walk." Lestrade grinned mischievously. "I have to respect you too for this relationship to work. Think of it as my way of saying so." He prodded the boy gently with the back of his boot. "'Course it's also a lot easier for me to pick on ya from back here."

The boy tried not to giggle each time the boot pushed him lightly or there was a soft tug on his hair. He slowed his pace until he and his master walked side by side, Lestrade ruffled his hair affectionately. Sherlock shoved him playfully. "Knock it off, Master. I'm too old." He said without conviction.

"Too old?" The master demanded, pulling Sherlock into a headlock. "You're never too old to be picked on."

"Master!" The boy wiggled in his grip. "Don't! Stop!"

"Don't stop?" The master teased.

"Someone is coming, get off!" Sherlock pinched the skin of his leg. Lestrade couldn't leap away fast enough.

"Below the belt, Curly." He hissed. Sherlock stuck his tongue out.

A white haired man and a ginger one were approaching steadily. The ginger was standing behind the white haired one looking pompous. Sherlock recoiled at the sight of his former captor. Lestrade tugged his ear lightly.

"Lestrade." The master drawled out. Sherlock's eyes widened in horror as he shot behind Lestrade's leg. Lestrade cocked an eyebrow inquisitively, but said nothing. He reached behind him and offered his hand to the boy. Sherlock bit him.

"I am merely checking on your week's progress with the boy." Dooku said low. "And making sure you wish to remain with him."

"Well we've bonded, so no choice really." Despite the biting Lestrade carded his hand through Sherlock's hair softly. Sherlock gripped his master's pants leg silently, he glanced up at the older boy. The ginger kid snarled.

"Master," Sherlock mumbled, "may I be excused." The child didn't want to stay where he was not wanted.

Lestrade knelt in front of him, completely ignoring the older man's presence. "What is it, Sherlock?"

"The ginger kid hates me, and the white haired man is going to become a Sith lord someday." The boy said as if it were obvious. "And I'm hungry."

Dooku raised a hand ready to strike the boy full in the face. Lestrade reacted with the speed of a younger man and caught the wrist. He let a low snarl.

"How dare he?" The master hissed.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You're awful quick to anger for a regular Jedi. Plus you're clearly power crazy, look at the way your padawan walks, and you've taught him to judge others."

Lestrade shot the child a look that made him want to retreat into the corner.

His master was angry.

"You wretched little…" Dooku pulled against Lestrade's grasp, but the younger held firm.

"He is mine to discipline, not yours." The knight said forcefully. He shoved Dooku back and stood firmly between him and his padawan.

"See that he is punished." The white haired man snarled.

Lestrade looked down at Sherlock and sighed. "Come on, kid."

The knight had to guide the boy by the shoulders back to their quarters. As the door opened Sherlock sprang away from him. "You asked me what was wrong! You can't get mad at me for answering a question."

"Sherlock learn to think, would you? There is a time and a place for such accusations." Lestrade sat on the couch tiredly, his good mood gone. "Next time you believe someone will be a Sith tell me we'll discuss it later, alright?"

"I…"

"Go to our room, wait for me." He said paternally.

Sherlock had his own room, but his nightmares were so powerful, and Lestrade was called in so often they had simply moved a mattress in the knight's bedroom. Sherlock swallowed hard.

"Go." Lestrade pointed a finger. The boy scampered away.

The silver haired man ran his fingers over his face in exhaustion. He didn't blame Sherlock, it was Lestrade's job to teach him restraint and luckily Sherlock was a fast learner. They were still new to each other, but Sherlock clearly was not at fault for the misunderstanding. Lestrade loosened his belt and slid it off. It was going to be a taxing day, and he wanted to be comfortable.

He strode over to where Sherlock was waiting for him, the boy sat on Lestrade's bed. The knight blinked at the sight. Sherlock sat with his hands behind his back, his shirt tossed away, and his head bowed. The scars on his back were not quite scars yet and still boarded on cuts. Lestrade had never examined the back up close before.

"Sherlock." He choked, not understanding.

The boy turned slowly, noted the belt in his hand, and nodded. He knelt on the floor in front of the master and presented his back with a small sniffle. "'S okay, Master. I understand. You're kinder than Moriarty was, so I accept your punishment. I won't run away." He placed his palms on the ground, signaling he was ready for the lashes. "But you did ask what was wrong, so not too many, okay?"

Lestrade nearly fainted. He knelt next to the boy, Sherlock braced in anticipation, but instead of a firm wack, there was a soft hand.

"My God, Sherlock." Lestrade sounded oddly close to tears for a man about to punish someone. "What have they done to you?" Sherlock turned to look at him slowly. Lestrade reached forward slowly and cupped his cheek. "I was putting this away, kid. I could never hit you, understand?" Lestrade chucked the belt away from him with all his might. Sherlock whimpered.

"I was bad…kinda."

"There was a misunderstanding, Sherlock." Lestrade stroked his back slowly, avoiding the open cuts and bruises. "You were not bad."

Sherlock gaped at him. "I'm sorry, Master… I was looking at the norm for Siths, beginners mistake…"

"Come here." Lestrade pulled the child against him. They sat in silence for a long time. "Is there more?"

Sherlock squeezed his little eyes shut and nodded against the man's chest. "I don't want to…"

"Where?" Lestrade rubbed the base of his neck soothingly. "Please, tell me."

"Legs." Sherlock whispered. Lestrade gave a small tug on Sherlock pants, but the boy shied away from him. He shook his head fiercely, with tears in his eyes. "You mustn't look."

Lestrade was crying.

He didn't try to hide it.

Slowly the knight motioned for Sherlock to come back to him. The boy shook his head. "Do you trust me?" Lestrade asked with more dignity than most crying man.

"Yes." The soft answer.

"Please, Sherlock. Let me see."

"No! Please, Master! You'll have to take me back to him if you look! That's what always happened if I ran away. Healers saw m-my…" The child looked away.

Lestrade stood over him and pulled him into a tight hug. "Shhh."

Sherlock sobbed. "Don't look, please."

But Lestrade tugged the pants down at last, leaving Sherlock in only his undergarments. The knight let out a soft sob at the sight of the Sith crest and the initials J. M burned into the top of his right thigh. He gathered the boy against him, not caring if Sherlock bit him or told him off. He needed to hold the boy.

Sherlock let him.

"You won't take me back." He muttered. "Promise me, you won't."

"Sherlock…"

"The words, Master. Please."

"I will never, ever take you back to that sick man. I promise you."

Sherlock felt his pants being pulled back up. He rested his head against Lestrade's shoulder. "Thank you." He muttered.

Mycroft jolted awake, drenched in sweat.

Damn it.