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“Stupid! Stupid!” Sherlock hissed as he sprinted down the narrow corridors of the abandoned Capital Ship, an old republican number that John had suggested they use as shelter until Mycroft’s Yacht could pick them up.

Why did they split up? They should have never split up!

Simply because Moriarty was finally gone didn’t mean that they weren’t in danger any longer, not by a long shot. Not with a Sith for a galactic Emperor and a legion upon legions of Storm-Troopers out for their blood.

But a Sith lord on the other side of the universe hadn’t seemed all that threatening at the time, especially not in light of the fall of one that was far closer to home. He’d been so preoccupied going over his duel with Moriarty again and again in his head, trying to spot any flaw that would hint at a trick – a bigger picture – a new ‘game’ - that he had completely forgotten the Rule of Two until it was far too late.

John was in trouble. He could feel it from the molecules of the stale ship air right through to the marrow of his bones.

He was in trouble and he was close.

His heart was beating in his throat and he could feel sweat pooling above his above his brow and making his hands slick. Only John could do this to him.

Sliding to a stop the young Jedi squeezed his eyes shut willing himself to calm. He could feel the force flow through him, soothing him – easing tense muscles and centring his mind.

His caring for John wouldn’t save him, a calm mind and body would.

There is not emotion, there is peace.

He could feel John more now.

There is no passion, there is serenity.

He could feel the darkness of his friend unknown attacker.

He was so close, but where? Which direction?

There is no chaos, there is harmony.

A strong tremor ran through the force, washing right over him. A tidal wave of dark and light energy, that originated from the ship’s engine room.

He was already running yet again before his eyes had fully focused to the dim light of the dead ship’s halls once more. It didn’t matter – he didn’t need sight when he could feel everything, see it more clearly in his mind than he ever could in with his eyes.

Leaping over a fortification of fallen cargo crates with a somersault executed with practiced ease, Sherlock summoned his lightsabre to his hand. Gripping the reassuring weight securely, the young knight had ignited and assumed his most practiced combative form before his boots had even hit the floor.

The darkness pulsed more and more severely the closer he drew to the cavernous room.

20 paces left.

The new Sith was busy with John but not unaware of him. The element of surprise was not on his side.

14 paces.

A defensive form was required then.

Seven paces.

Soresu. Madam Hudson was a master and he her most capable student, it was the wisest choice.

Three.

Adjust grip. Loosen wrist. Light feet. Deep breath.

One.

“Force be with me.”

He burst into the room just in time to watch as John was thrown across it and into one of the unforgivingly thick durasteel walls. His friend slid to the ground into a broken heap whilst the thud of the initial impact continued to resound around the room.

“Your friend is foolish,” the Sith hissed, his voice, already deep by nature, deepened still by barely contained fury and bloodlust.

Swinging his sabre into a more refined defensive position with a quick flick of his wrist, Sherlock called airily, “I tell him as much quite often myself.”

“But not as foolish as you.”

“Is that so?” he asked as he circled closer to John.

“You murdered my Master,” the man spat, “You will pay for it.”

“Your Master,” Sherlock sighed, shaking his head in despair at his own stupidity as he crouched down beside his friend’s prone body, fumbling around his neck for a pulse, “Sebastian Moran, of course.”

“You’ve heard of me then,” Moran chuckled darkly. It was not a question.

“Colonel Moran, formerly of the Separatist Army and the infamous ‘Darth Jim’s’ favourite Nexu. Yes – I have heard of you.”

“You dare mock my Master?!” Moran shrieked.

There. A pulse. Steady and strong. John was alive. Now all he had to do was keep him that way.

“You’ll die Holmes!” Moran howled with rage, stalking ever closer. “I’ll kill you!!”

Smirking, Sherlock swung his sabre back up at the ready before hissing in reply, “We’ll see about that.”

--

OP asked for something inspired by this one sentence fic - "Sherlock stepped over John's unconscious body and activated his light saber as Moran drew closer"
I hope that you guys and the OP like this

I worry that I made Sherlock a bit too emotional but he was quite stressed at the end of TGG so hopefully it's not too OOC

Description
“Stupid! Stupid!” Sherlock hissed as he sprinted down the narrow corridors of the abandoned Capital Ship, an old republican number that John had suggested they use as shelter until Mycroft’s Yacht could pick them up.

Why did they split up? They should have never split up!

Simply because Moriarty was finally gone didn’t mean that they weren’t in danger any longer, not by a long shot. Not with a Sith for a galactic Emperor and a legion upon legions of Storm-Troopers out for their blood.

But a Sith lord on the other side of the universe hadn’t seemed all that threatening at the time, especially not in light of the fall of one that was far closer to home. He’d been so preoccupied going over his duel with Moriarty again and again in his head, trying to spot any flaw that would hint at a trick – a bigger picture – a new ‘game’ - that he had completely forgotten the Rule of Two until it was far too late.

John was in trouble. He could feel it from the molecules of the stale ship air right through to the marrow of his bones.

He was in trouble and he was close.

His heart was beating in his throat and he could feel sweat pooling above his above his brow and making his hands slick. Only John could do this to him.

Sliding to a stop the young Jedi squeezed his eyes shut willing himself to calm. He could feel the force flow through him, soothing him – easing tense muscles and centring his mind.

His caring for John wouldn’t save him, a calm mind and body would.

There is not emotion, there is peace.

He could feel John more now.

There is no passion, there is serenity.

He could feel the darkness of his friend unknown attacker.

He was so close, but where? Which direction?

There is no chaos, there is harmony.

A strong tremor ran through the force, washing right over him. A tidal wave of dark and light energy, that originated from the ship’s engine room.

He was already running yet again before his eyes had fully focused to the dim light of the dead ship’s halls once more. It didn’t matter – he didn’t need sight when he could feel everything, see it more clearly in his mind than he ever could in with his eyes.

Leaping over a fortification of fallen cargo crates with a somersault executed with practiced ease, Sherlock summoned his lightsabre to his hand. Gripping the reassuring weight securely, the young knight had ignited and assumed his most practiced combative form before his boots had even hit the floor.

The darkness pulsed more and more severely the closer he drew to the cavernous room.

20 paces left.

The new Sith was busy with John but not unaware of him. The element of surprise was not on his side.

14 paces.

A defensive form was required then.

Seven paces.

Soresu. Madam Hudson was a master and he her most capable student, it was the wisest choice.

Three.

Adjust grip. Loosen wrist. Light feet. Deep breath.

One.

“Force be with me.”

He burst into the room just in time to watch as John was thrown across it and into one of the unforgivingly thick durasteel walls. His friend slid to the ground into a broken heap whilst the thud of the initial impact continued to resound around the room.

“Your friend is foolish,” the Sith hissed, his voice, already deep by nature, deepened still by barely contained fury and bloodlust.

Swinging his sabre into a more refined defensive position with a quick flick of his wrist, Sherlock called airily, “I tell him as much quite often myself.”

“But not as foolish as you.”

“Is that so?” he asked as he circled closer to John.

“You murdered my Master,” the man spat, “You will pay for it.”

“Your Master,” Sherlock sighed, shaking his head in despair at his own stupidity as he crouched down beside his friend’s prone body, fumbling around his neck for a pulse, “Sebastian Moran, of course.”

“You’ve heard of me then,” Moran chuckled darkly. It was not a question.

“Colonel Moran, formerly of the Separatist Army and the infamous ‘Darth Jim’s’ favourite Nexu. Yes – I have heard of you.”

“You dare mock my Master?!” Moran shrieked.

There. A pulse. Steady and strong. John was alive. Now all he had to do was keep him that way.

“You’ll die Holmes!” Moran howled with rage, stalking ever closer. “I’ll kill you!!”

Smirking, Sherlock swung his sabre back up at the ready before hissing in reply, “We’ll see about that.”

--

OP asked for something inspired by this one sentence fic - "Sherlock stepped over John's unconscious body and activated his light saber as Moran drew closer"
I hope that you guys and the OP like this

I worry that I made Sherlock a bit too emotional but he was quite stressed at the end of TGG so hopefully it's not too OOC