"It's alright Hamish."
A woman clad in a long white dress stroked his hair lovingly, her hair was tied back in a beautiful bun that reminded him of childhood. A gently cloud settled over his eyes, preventing him from seeing the woman clearly. She hummed to him an old lullaby.
"Mum." He groaned.
"Hello, Hamish." She smiled at him.
"Mummy?" He cried. The woman smiled, her head was shrouded in gold reflecting brightly from her hair. John reached for her slowly. He needed his mother's comfort, he needed someone's comfort.
"John!" A strong voice roared, the woman flinched. "John, think. Think! Remember your mother, your real mother!"
John blinked rapidly. His mum was always warm and kind and…never called him Hamish. She named him John, he was always John to her. She'd never hear of calling him by his royal name. He shoved the woman away.
"Grandpa!" He called. A silver haired man launched over the child's bed, green saber drawn. The woman leapt back and brandished a whip. She aimed it for the strong man's chest, but the master rolled away. The covers wrapped themselves around the child's ankles, he was stopped from helping the master. "Grandpa!"
"John, find Sherlock! Find him and tell him…!" The whip missed the master by centimeters. "Tell him he'll be… Kriffing pyscho!"
John reached for the silver haired man. But the visions were fading away, John cried for the silver haired man again. But his grandfather only winked.
Sith spit.
oOo
"This is familiar."
Moran was clearly enjoying himself, Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Repetition is boring." He huffed. His knees were starting to ache, but the knight remained emotionless. His hands were chained to a horizontal pipe above his head, Moran had forced the knight to his knees. Sherlock felt another prick at the base of his neck. Needles were being placed strategically around his body at different pressure points, Sherlock could only imagine for what.
"Comfortable?"
"If I answer "yes" will you stop talking?" Sherlock drawled.
The answer was a short smack across the face. Sherlock grunted as some of the needles went deeper into his skin, the Acolyte smirked. Sherlock sighed. "Dull."
"That isn't what your beloved master said when I had my way with him at the end."
Sherlock glared at the older man indifferently. "I felt my master die. It didn't last long enough for you lay out your tools, Seb." Sherlock gave him a sly smirk. "Sadly you cannot hurt me with him."
Moran grabbed the knight by throat, his fist clenched. "I was the one who ended his life. He was weak."
"And you are an imbecile. He d-died swiftly. Your precious m-master could have u-used him against me. Moron." Sherlock laughed as much as his constricted windpipe would allow. "He could have had his apprentice back if you hadn't ruined everyth-"
"You don't deserve him, you kriffing Jedi!" Moran shouted, slamming him to the ground. "I did everything! Do you hear me?! I would have done anything to be his apprentice, but he wanted you and kriffing gifts."
"Yes, because I am better." Sherlock sneered. He was growing dangerously close to blacking out.
He welcomed it.
"You've taken the master I idolize." Moran spat in the knight's face. "Now watch as I make your padawan mine."
"John would sooner die." Sherlock hissed confidently.
"John, maybe. But Hamish will be mine." The acolyte grinned. Sherlock snarled as he was thrown back against his bonds. The knight cringed.
"Hamish is non-existent."
"Not yet, my friend. But he will want to see you, and we will come to a compromise every time he does." Moran sneered and attached wires the small of Sherlock's back.
"You truly believe John will give up his identity for me?" Sherlock growled.
"I have no idea how willingly he will. But it can't be hard to steal an eight year old's identity, now can it? You were ten when the Jedi changed you."
"I wasn't changed." Sherlock said shortly. "I stopped hiding."
"Now who's being dull?" Moran grinned as his fingers danced over a switch. "Learned this at Tatooine. Not enough to kill you by five volts. Sure as hells make you want to die though." He gave a wicked wink and flipped the switch. Electric currents poured through the Jedi's back. Sherlock bit his lip to keep from screaming.
There would be no questions, only pain. It was a punishment for running away. Moran was laughing as Sherlock's body thrashed. "And to think I get to do this for every night you ran away. That'll be another twenty-two years, Holmes."
Sherlock hissed through clenched teeth.
Perhaps now he was looking forward to death.
No. Not even ample amounts of pain would ever make him want to leave John.
The urge to scream died in his chest.
oOo
John woke up in a fully furnished, beautiful bedroom. His eyes could barely focus the walls were so bright, he rolled over in the bed hoping to find Sherlock's scent. There was only the ocean.
John buried his head in the pillow and swore. He wanted his master, again he felt helpless. Sherlock was in trouble, and John was in the most beautiful bedroom, with curtains draped over his bed and a perfect view of the sea. Immediately the child flipped out of bed, only to have his leg snag at the end of a chain.
"Kriff it!" The boy growled angrily.
He heard soft shuffling, a woman's bare feet on the floor, the curtains were thrown open. "Hamish." The princess, his sister, sighed. "Watch your mouth young man."
"Kriff off." John snarled. "My name is John, it always has been John."
"Hamish that is a lie the Jedi have told you." The princess said smoothly. "Our family has always had names that start with H-A. Harold, Harriet…"
"Mum didn't!" He shouted. "Her name was Lara, she named me John after her dad. She told the Jedi my name was John, and I agreed with her!" The boy stomped his foot, causing his room to shake. It was all he could remember about his mum, he would not let them take that from him.
"Hamish, you will be still." His older sister commanded.
"I will be rebellious until I know my master is alive!" John countered angrily. "I will be tedious until you call me by my real name, and I shall be a brat until this chain is removed!" He pointed to his leg.
"John!" She finally shouted. "Sit down, and for the love the gods shut your mouth."
John grinned triumphantly. Perhaps he could force Harriet to take him to Sherlock. His pocket saber was still poking him in the chest. The boy could easily free his master from his bonds. John slid onto the bed and obediently sat.
"Now I want to see my master." The child said coldly.
"He is no longer your owner, Ha-John. Can't you feel that? We've freed you from him."
The padawan of Sherlock Holmes cocked an unimpressed eyebrow and pointed at his shackles. "My master has yet to chain me down, though he has threatened it." John said with a sad smile. He bit down his tears, a crying eight year old would not get Sherlock back.
"John, I cannot take you to see him." Harriet changed her voice to gentle. She was trying to appeal to the eight year old in him. He gave a small pout.
"Why?"
"He is a prisoner and an apparent runaway slave. Moran is retraining him, and he shall be gone from you." She reached forward to stroke his hair, but John smacked her hand away.
"They can't." He said shortly.
"They are." She said gently.
"You misunderstand me, lady. Sherlock cannot be trained by anyone other than my grandfather, Sherlock's Jedi master." John said indifferently. His master was probably the strongest knight to ever live. Harriet glared at him. "I'd like to see my master, Harry." John said quietly.
"Your grandfather was king of this planet, as you will be one day. Your other grandfather was a duke…"
"I have only two grandfathers that come to mind." John snapped. "I have Master Qui Gon and Grandpa Lestrade. I have a brother named Mikey and a sister named Mary. I have an uncle named Mycroft, a second mother named Rica, and I have a father called Sherlock. Kriff you if you think otherwise." John said fiercely.
Harriet gaped at him. Hamish had always been a soft spoken boy, never quick to yell, always soft and giggly. This boy was a strong solider, a proper future king. A John, not a Hamish.
"If I have it my way you will never see that slave again." She spat.
"You can't keep me from him." John snapped.
"Oh trust me, I can do more than you think." She gave him a hard shove, John toppled back. "I am trying to protect you, 'Mish. Moran is claiming you are legally a slave because of your papers tying you to the Jedi. You must stop claiming him as your father."
"I'd rather be with Sherlock." The boy mumbled, tears were in his eyes. The shove had been cruel. Jedi padawan he may have been, but he was still only eight. He glanced around and sighed when he realized his bear had been left at 221B. John exhaled miserably as he crawled in to bed. "Go away, Harry. You are no used to me if I can't see my teacher."
Harriet stalked out of the room in a furious rage. She slammed the door as hard as she could behind her. John wiggled under the blankets and prayed for sleep. He buried his head underneath the covers.
A steady pressure on the end of the mattress alerted him to another's presences. The being came across with a friendly aura, but John still frowned. "Go away, hundark." John snapped.
"Careful, kid. You sound like your master when you snap like that." A warm voice chuckled. John whipped the covers from his head.
"Gr-Master!" John nearly launched himself at the ghostly figure of Lestrade, the silver haired man grinned.
"Grandpa's fine." He said softly as the child crawled towards him. His presence was shifty, but becoming somewhat clearer by the second. John beamed at him.
"How?" He asked with awe.
"Took me a while to figure out." The elder laughed. "Unfortunately it will not last long."
"You're here to help, right?" John asked hopefully.
The silver head shook. "No, little guy." He muttered sadly as he reached towards the young face. His fingers went through John's cheek, making the child shiver. "I don't exists anymore, therefore I cannot help."
John gave a dry sob. "I don't know what to do, Grandpa." John sniffled. "Sherlock is better at this than I am. I don't know how to get free or save my master."
"John." Those friendly brown eyes made him stop sniffling instantly. The child cocked his head questioningly, the vision grinned wildly. "Force, you are just like him, aren't you? Used to give me that head tilt all the time, the hundark." Lestrade's vision solidified enough to reach forward and hug the boy. "Get your bear and all will be well." He promised.
"My bear, sir?"
"Yup. That is the only clue I can give you, little little one." The vision released the child tiredly.
"Sherlock would want to see you, Grandpa." John prompted as the vision began to fade.
Lestrade gave the child a weak smile. "I will not be able to go to him until the end, little little one. He is too close to me, I cannot help until…"
John gave a small frown. "Until the end of what, Grandfather."
Lestrade hesitated. "Do you trust me, kid?"
"Almost as much as Sherlock." John said empathetically.
"Good." The figure winked and vanished.
John hated how much like Sherlock his grandfather truly was. He settled back underneath the warm blankets. Secretly he wished Sherlock was there to tuck him in.
Get his bear back?
Why did it sound like he'd have to kiss some serious arse?
"Son of a Sith."
There was a pretty big clue in chapter 27…just saying.