John couldn't sleep.

He curled deeper into his covers until only the tip of his head poked through the top. Tight fists wrapped themselves the sheets as he refused to call for Sherlock. He was eight and a half.

A half.

Too old to be crying out for his master. Too old for tuck-ins really, but he didn't want to deprive Sherlock of that time together. He pulled his bear against his chest and whimpered. He was the relative of a Dark Acolyte, which meant he could turn dark as well.

Kriff.

He nuzzled his bear fiercely.

The covers were being peeled away from his head, Sherlock was rubbing John's stomach softly as he uncurled the boy from his bear. Sherlock stroked his hair tenderly.

"You are not good enough to shield from me yet, little one." He said gently. The distress, fear, and pity had been felt tenfold through their bond. The master knelt by the bed side and slowly pressed their foreheads together. "You won't turn dark." He murmured.

"Master, you don't know…" John grasped for his teacher's hand.

"Yes. I do." Sherlock stroked the blond hair tenderly. He ran his fingers over the soft hand, slowly comforting the boy. "And next time I say stay at the flat…"

"I'll stay in flat, Master." John whispered. "Did you know?"

"Not right away, little one, no." Sherlock regarded him slowly. "I have deleted most of my past, your and Moran's traits did not add up until it was too late."

"Why did the Force make him look so much like me?" John whispered as his grip on his teacher's hand tightened. "Why me?"

"Because you were…" Sherlock frowned. "Come here."

John crawled into his arms, Sherlock hoisted him into the air carefully. He opened the glass door that led into the yard of 221B, he held on to his padawan tightly as he made his way across the cool grass. The sea breeze blew both their hair. John shivered.

"Stay." Sherlock said shortly as he trotted back to the flat. John dangled his legs off the cliff that over looked the "king's" sea. He watched as a gunderr bird dove into the water, breaking the surface that had previously been reflecting two bright moons. It resurfaced with a fish trapped between its point beak. John squirmed.

His sleeping robe (Sherlock's regular robe) was being tossed over the slender shoulders and a plush toy was being passed down to him. John held onto it gratefully. His master sat next to him, John leaned against his strong arm. "I would have been alright by myself."

Sherlock shrugged. "Doubtful."

"Would have." John snuggled closer to him. They sat in silence until John remembered his unanswered question. "Why did he look like me?" He repeated.

Sherlock hesitated, his previous conversation with his brother had confirmed his concerns and prevented him from telling the boy. Sherlock chewed his lip, the council did not want the boy to know. The master pulled the little child into his lap, he stroked the boy's back tenderly.

"Master?" John whimpered softly.

Sherlock sighed. "Deduce, little one. What is your last name?"

"Holmes." The boy sounded like he was smiling.

"Your real one, hundark." Sherlock flicked him.

"Watson."

"And we changed it because…" He said impatiently. Honestly sometimes he doubted John ever picked up on his deduction skills.

"It is a…" John paled. He crushed himself against Sherlock's chest. "No, no, no, no."

"Little one." Sherlock said gently. He rocked the child carefully, technically no rules had been broken. He hadn't told the boy anything. John, to Sherlock's great surprise, did not cry. He only leaned further into his master's hold. "I read the history." Sherlock mumbled. "You were loved by the people, quiet, shy, cute. A perfect heir. It was known right away you were Force sensitive."

The boy frowned. "I had a sister. Why couldn't she be the heir?"

"Men only." Sherlock said quietly. "It was told that the Jedi knew how powerful you were and attempted to have you taken, but your father caught on to their plot. The Jedi was said to have killed you to prevent an uprising."

"The truth?" John whispered.

"Your mother. She gave you to a Jedi scouting the area. Wanted him to take you away from here."

John settled against him. "I don't remember her. Whenever I try to picture my family I think of Rica, Qui Gon, Master Lestrade, Mikey, Mary, and…" His voice trailed off. His bright blue eyes peeked up at Sherlock questioningly.

"Attachment…" The old argument. John nudged him harshly in the ribs.

"Daddy." He whined. The older man tightened his grip so it was pressing against the young neck. John wiggled in the playful grip. "Let go! Le'me go!"

Sherlock nipped the child's ear before releasing the grip. He rested his lips on top of the soft head.

"Is this what it's like, Master?" John asked innocently. "Having a daddy?"

Sherlock falter. His father had sold him to Moriarty to gain information on Mycroft's location. His father never held him in the way that he now held John. Sherlock frowned. "I don't think so, John. I know this what it is like having a master." His thoughts went to Lestrade.

John nuzzled him. The heavy breathing of sleep came upon him moments later. Sherlock carried the young boy back into his room. John felt light in his arms, the knight made a mental note to add another meal to the padawan's diet. He laid the child on his bed. Even in sleep John rolled over to gently nip Sherlock's ear.

Sentiment.

Attachment.

Lo-.

No, not that.

Not again.

oOo

He was so unbelievably, undeniably in trouble.

Sherlock had let him go off on his own.

What kind of adult let an eight year old convince him it was okay to run off on his own?

John squirmed in the big guard's grip as he was shaken violent. The man reeked of alcohol, John gagged. The guard looked ready to throttle his little neck. He yanked John off the ground with a sharp tug. John snarled as their blue eyes met.

"What did you say to me, whelp?" The alcoholic guard hissed.

"I said you shouldn't hit a girl, kriffing moron." John snapped. "What are you deaf and stupid?" The young boy had stumbled across the idiot beating a girl no older then him because her father couldn't pay his taxes. John had thrown his fruit core at the back of the guard's head.

"You should mind your tongue, child."

John scowled. "You repeal me." He seethed as the adult flung him onto the ground hard. The whip cracked just above his head, the guard was far too drunk to swing correctly. John scrambled to his feet and put himself in front of the girl who had been forced to cling to a pole as her beating progressed.

"You," the guard sneered, "are the Gorian's pup, ain't ya?"

John held his chin out proudly.

"I could kill you and no one would care." He grinned.

"Well color me frightened." The boy mocked. "You can hardly hold your whip, poodoo brains."

Master…

Busy!

Sorry, Master.

John began undoing the knots that held the girl in place. She gave him a pleading glance, he smiled gently. "'S okay. He's too drunk to hit straight."

The whip cracked above his head to prove his point. He grinned at the girl. "My name's John."

"S-Sarah." She squeaked.

"Nice to meet you, Sarah." He twisted off the last knot, the little girl ran from him the moment she was free. She flung herself into her father's arms. The old man frowned, his hair was be gray, he looked like Lestrade. He nodded his thanks towards the boy.

Master.

Life or death, John.

At least the whip found its mark, slicing deep into the young cheek. John screamed across their bond and aloud. The guard sneered. "And it ain't even electrified yet, brat."

"Kriff you." John snapped as he gripped his bleeding cheek. It hadn't really hurt that bad, just enough to catch him off guard. John grew queasy at the sight of his blood dripping to the floor.

How had Sherlock down ten of those with electricity?

"You're gonna die, puppy." The guard laughed.

A swift hand caught the drunk off guard and by the throat. A mess of dark hair and curls showed their back to John as a very angry looking Sherlock slammed the guard into a wall. Sherlock pulled his thin lips back into a viscous snarl.

"I do hope you are not speaking to my pup." Sherlock tightened his grip. "Because when you talk you kill brain cells, thanks to all the alcohol on your breath."

The guard's eyes nearly bugged out of his head. John clutched his cheek and giggled.

"Have you ever seen a Gorian father when his pup's been attack, drunkard?"

The guard shook his head.

"The putrid existence that is your life goes out." Sherlock pushed him further into the wall. "Now I'm going to turn around and if there is even the slightest scratch on my son's face, I encourage you to run."

Revenge was not the Jedi way, but Sherlock could not contain his anger at the sight of his padawan hurt. He was giving the drunk man an out, hopefully the dim being would take it. He released the throat and turned to John.

The guard ran.

"Come here." He said sternly.

John went to him slowly, nervously. His master knelt before him, his swift fingers danced over the wound. He produced medical supplies.

"Sherlock, could you fix the girl first? Please?" John stilled the elder's hands and pointed to Sarah. She was bleeding from a heavy gash in her arm. Sherlock threw John a dirty look. "Please? I'm okay, really."

Sherlock sighed heavily. He gave a small hand gesture to the girl who glanced to her father. The old man grimaced, but nodded. The girl walked towards the kneeling man and held out her arm. Sherlock made quick work with the disinfectant and was surprisingly gentle as he bandaged the thin arm. He gave her a packet of water. She managed to squeak out a small "thank you" and ran back to her father.

Sherlock tore open another packet with his teeth and passed it John. His padawan drank thirstily. Sherlock dabbed at his cheek thoroughly. "They're coming back." He said quietly.

"They?" John yelped.

"They. Three of them."

"Mas…Sherlock." John put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

"Go with the old man and his daughter." Sherlock said firmly. "Keep them safe, John. I'm trusting you."

John nipped his master's ear lightly. "Yes, sir."

"Stay with them. Understand?"

"Yes, sir." John mumbled.

Sherlock nipped his ear before shoving him forward. "Go."

John stumbled towards the gathering crowd as three more guards approached the kneeling man. John stood firmly between the girl and father. The crowd observed the child, whispers about the dark haired man flew through the pack. John focused solely on his master. The dark haired man turned his head in time to receive a punch to the nose.

The three guards hooted with laughter.

"This guy gave a trained guard problems? This low life off worlder."

Sherlock subdued his padawan with a small hand gesture and grin.

Now it was self-defense. As his master had taught him long ago, wait a weaker attacker out. Let them attack, let them instigate, let them prove that they were going to hurt if not defended against, and then let them feel Hell. He took kicks to his ribs, face, arms. The knight sighed.

He launched himself at the largest guard and twisted his opponent's weight so he flew into his two companions. Sherlock dusted himself off with a bored sigh. None of his oppressors were getting up.

Perhaps he had over done it.

He turned to John, the crowd shied away from him.

Like he cared.

John ran to him as quickly as his little legs would carry him. Sherlock stooped so he could carry the child, John pitched himself at his master with a small giggle. He pressed his forehead against Sherlock's neck. "Master, you shouldn't have hit him so hard." But the padawan was laughing.

"He started it, little one. I was in fear of my life." Sherlock held the boy in the crook of his arm. John buried his face in his master's neck.

"Cool."

"T-thank you!" The old man called out. His daughter was being held in a similar fashion as John.

"Don't wait around from them to get up." Sherlock scowled. "Go home, get out." He flicked a dark gold coin at the man, worth at least double his taxes. "If they come back looking for trouble say your daughter was just attacked and that you could pay all along." Sherlock rolled his eyes as the man gaped. "Go!"

Sherlock carried John home, as the hid themselves behind 221B's door Sherlock pressed a swift kiss against John's temple. John smiled against the strong shoulders but said nothing.

There was nothing to be said.

oOo

Harriet could have killed the idiots.

Three of the palace's best guards laid strung out in the middle of the village plaza. Apparently it had only taken one blow from the mysterious stranger no one would describe. They simply referred to him as "Sherlock".

They said his pup screamed out and the next second the man had been there. Villagers whispered about how he had tried to warn the guard off him, how his pup had idolized him as he threw away the largest guard as though he were nothing. One of her men began to stir.

She nearly stomped back in unconsciousness.

"Tell me." She hissed.

"Dark hair." The guard sputtered. "Crazy blue eyes, Gorain, tall."

Harriet froze. "Scars?"

"He had a few on his back." The guard murmured. "We saw it when his shirt moved."

The young woman smirked. "Be thankful you were left a live. I have met that man before, he is an incredible specimen."

"Careful dear sister." A cold voice said behind her. "One may think you fancy this off worlder."

"I am not your sister, Moran." She said coldly. The people may have seen her little brother in his eyes, but he did not fool her. She was not blinded by the Force as they were, she was protected. "You will never replace Hamish."

"Hamish has passed, frail one. Why can you not accept this?" His words were meant to be soft, but instead came out a harsh question.

"No man, not even a Jedi, should have the willpower to kill a four year old. Especially Hamish." She snapped. Her kid brother had the biggest blue eyes, so trusting. He had the Watson nose and their mother's laugh. He had never laughed for their father though. Father hated the thought of Hamish being so small and loyal. He would never have grown to be a solider king.

Moran merely shrugged. "Doesn't matter. The crime for assaulting a solider is forty lashes each. The boy threw a fruit core at Arnish."

"The child won't survive that. And the villagers claim it was self-defense, we will lose our support if we hurt them." Harriet turned away from the thug Sith. Her father's bastard.

"The people need to be shown we will punish those who disobey our laws." Moran leaned lazily against an old building.

"That is the Sith's way, not ours." Harriet growled. "We need the support of our people in order to function."

"As you command, my lady." He snorted.

"Idiot." She muttered as he walked away. Still, it would hurt to keep tabs on this "Sherlock" and his pup.