A/N: This is sequel to The Never-Ending Road. If you have not read that you really should, otherwise you will be confused.

There have been so many people who have favoured and followed since The Never-Ending Road – I want to thank you all - if I have forgotten someone, I apologize.

TitaniumOctopus, Tabbica, guest (Sevvy – that was a beautiful review – thanks so much!), byebye cutie, Florencia Scordo and IceTopaz. Thanks to anyone else who has read, followed or favoured my other stories – wouldn't be here without you.

Warnings - Yeah so apparently I wrote a bunch of smut. Is that a warning? (blush) – I wanted something sweet and nice before all the dark and angst reared up – 'cause it's coming folks!

I do not own. I borrowed some words from TRF. I changed some and adapted some to suit my story. I am grateful to the brilliance of Gatiss, Moffat & of course Doyle.

All mistakes are my own.

Darkness in His Soul

Chapter 1. Back Amongst the Living

When you arise in the morning, think of what a precious priviledge it is to be alive – to breathe, to think, to enjoy, to love. Marcus Aurelius

"You think you can make me stop the order, you think you can make me do that?"

"Yes. So do you."

"Sherlock, your big brother and all the King's horses couldn't make me do a thing I didn't want to."

"Yes, but I'm not my brother, remember?" pause "I am you. Prepared to do anything. Prepared to burn. Prepared to do what ordinary people won't do. You want me to shake hands with you in hell? I shall not disappoint you."

"Nah. You talk big. Nah. You're ordinary. You're ordinary. You're on the side of the angels."

"I may be on the side of the angels, but don't think for one second that I am one of them."

"No. You're not. I see. You're not ordinary. You're perfect. You're me." A slight giggle. "You're me! Thank you. Sherlock Holmes. Thank you. Bless you. You've made my choice so easy," he whispers. "As long as I'm alive you can save your friends, your dear doctor. You think you've got a way out. I have a way out too, Sherlock. You thought you were prepared to do anything? You have no idea what I'm prepared to do. I won't be shaking hands with you in hell. You'll be there, but," and he paused, "I'll be here. Your friends might not recognize me." He looks down and shakes his head. "I have already thought of the way to prevent you using me to save the one you love and I will still win." Then he opens his mouth wide and places a gun inside. The shot rings out.

Sherlock awoke with a start, his heart racing. As he became more aware of his surroundings he realized it was still dark, still night. He mentally struggled to come back from the rooftop of St. Bart's and return to their bedroom. He rubbed his eyes and frowned trying to wipe away the last vestiges of the nightmare that clung to him. He turned his head slightly, but doing so only confirmed what he already knew. John was awake and up. The place beside him was still warm, so he hadn't been gone long. John was still coming to terms with Sherlock's return and slept more restlessly than before, with dreams darker than even from Afghanistan.

He hadn't done well while Sherlock was gone. Only Lestrade's friendship had helped him through it. Lestrade had had an uncanny knack for turning up at exactly the right moment to prevent John from harming himself.

"It was a close go a couple of times, Sherlock." Lestrade had pulled him aside shortly after his return. "It was weird, the way I just seem to know when it was really bad. Like something or someone was telling me." He shook his head. "I've never seen anyone that lost. But I guess with the whole connection between you two, I guess I shouldn't be surprised."

Sherlock's frown deepened as he thought back to that conversation. He had so much to make up for. It didn't matter that he had done it to save John's life and Lestrade's and Mrs. Hudson's. It didn't matter that he would do it again in a heartbeat. What mattered was that he had damaged the one person he loved more than any other. Had ever loved.

And it wasn't as if they had a normal relationship, either. They had been lovers for over six thousand years due to an unfortunate curse. Not that Sherlock remembered any of it except their first lifetime together. John now only remembered bits and pieces of the rest. Before he'd been cursed to remember every agonizing death, usually caused by his own hand.

Sherlock thought about the conversation he'd had with Athena, when he'd asked her to help John forget, as he lay almost dead in Sherlock's arms.

"There will of course be a price for this. One you both will have to pay."

"There's always a price," he said. She nodded in acceptance.

Over the last tortuous year, he often wondered if his faking his own death and being parted from John was the price. He hoped it wasn't any steeper than that. He felt that John had paid more dearly, as he had paid more dearly with the curse.

Sherlock sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He pulled on his pajama bottoms and walked out of the bedroom. It was warm enough in the flat he didn't need anything else.

He padded out to the kitchen where he found John also in pajama bottoms but wearing a ratty old t-shirt for a top. His hair was still tousled from sleep. He was staring out the window, arms folded across his chest, lost in thought. He did that a lot now. Thinking thoughts Sherlock, even with all of his deductive powers, couldn't always follow. His chest constricted. Even though he'd been back two months and John had started eating more, he still looked so thin. He'd lost a lot of weight while Sherlock was gone destroying Moriarty's web, trying to destroy the legacy of the man who had hurt John so badly, by kidnapping and torturing him twice. He walked up behind the man he loved loud enough not to startle him and placed his hands on John's shoulders. He leaned forward and kissed John on the top of his head, taking in the smell of him, the smell of sunshine and tea and home. John swung his head slightly over his shoulder and looked up at Sherlock and smiled a heartbreakingly warm and sunny smile. His stomach clenched and he knew he had to kiss John.

Sherlock turned the doctor's body toward him. John looked into his eyes, bemused. The blue eyes, which before Sherlock's death had finally cleared of the centuries of heartache, seemed more pain filled, more storm-at-sea than before. Sherlock felt that he didn't deserve to be loved by this man. He ran his hands up the side of John's neck and cupped his face in them. He locked eyes with the doctor, still not saying anything. He leaned down and brushed John's warm lips with his own, then he wrapped his lips around the lower one, sucking gently, listened for the hitch in John's breathing. There it was. John let his arms fall from across his chest and wrapped them around Sherlock's waist pulled him closer, running his hands up behind Sherlock to clench onto his shoulders, pressed their bodies together. Sherlock basked in the heat that was generated between the two of them. It had been hard when he had first returned. John had been forgiving after a long explanation, but had been unsure and uncertain making love to Sherlock. He was almost afraid that Sherlock wasn't real or that he'd disintegrate and disappear again. It had only been a few weeks ago that they had become intimate again and it was like starting over, re-learning each other's bodies, each other's erogenous zones.

Sherlock wanted more this time. The nightmare still flickered through his thoughts. He knew that having and taking John would bring him out of dreams and back to reality; John was his anchor. He wrapped his long arms around John and deepened the kiss. He tasted and touched the inside of John's mouth, asked him silently if this was acceptable. John's responded eagerly and he pushed the taller man back against the counter; he seemed to sense Sherlock's need. They breathed into each other and John moaned deeply as Sherlock lowered one of his hands and brought them around front to touch John. He began with feather touches, stroking John's thigh up and down. He reached up and ran a finger at the top of the waistband on John's pajamas and then he slowly and deliberately slipped his hand inside and cupped him. He gently and lightly stroked his partner, teasing him. John trembled.

"Please Sherlock, "he whispered. Sherlock looked into his eyes again. The pupils were blown. John's pulse was racing, as was Sherlock's. He gasped as John reciprocated.

Both were beginning to pant and Sherlock half led, half carried the doctor back to the bedroom. He tugged on John's t-shirt and pulled it up over his head and it landed on the bed. He quickly pulled down his own pajama bottoms and made short work of John's. He pushed the doctor down on the bed and climbed on top of him, straddling his hips, reveling in the close contact of bare skin. He had missed this so much. He ran his hands over the doctor's chest as John ran fingers over Sherlock's face and lips. Sherlock took one of John's fingers into his mouth and sucked on it. John moaned, the vibration of it shot right through Sherlock. He leaned forward and continued the kiss he had started in the kitchen. He carried it down from John's mouth and around his chin over to his ear, nibbled and bit. He slowly and lovingly stroked the outer rim with his tongue. John's fingers clenched tighter into Sherlock's shoulders, his breath came in gasps.

Sherlock leaned into the tonguing of John's ear and with a ragged whisper told John exactly what he wanted to do to him. John shuddered and nodded, beyond speech. Sherlock reached over to the bedside table and opened the drawer. He pulled out the small bottle and a condom. He laid them both on the bed beside John and reached down and grasped John and slowly stroked up and down, never taking his eyes off of Johns face, off of his eyes.

"Keep watching me, John. Don't stop."

John swallowed and nodded, never taking his eyes off of his partner. With his other hand Sherlock flipped open the small bottle, letting the liquid roll down his fingers and reached down and began to work on his partner. Slowly moving his finger on the outer rim, slowly, penetrating with one finger, stretching, he added a second finger and there he found it, right there. John's gasp was loud, he shivered and shook. He never lost contact with Sherlock's eyes. They pleaded with Sherlock as he added a third finger. When he was ready, Sherlock, never breaking eye contact with his partner, ripped open the condom package with his teeth. John raised his hands and grabbed it and placed the condom on Sherlock. It was such an intimate moment it was all he could do not to come right there, but he willed himself past it and as he entered into the man he love, he leaned over and whispered continually his love for him. John responded with whispers of his own. He took Sherlock's hands in his own and intertwined their fingers.

At the moment of climax, as the both came together, they both shouted out the other's name, both sounds blending together, as one, as they were one, as they would always be one.

Sherlock reached around and grabbed John's t-shirt and cleaned up John's chest and stomach and then the detective collapsed on top of the doctor. Both were spent. John pulled Sherlock closer and ran one hand through Sherlock's hair and trailed his other hand up and down Sherlock's back.

Afterwards, as they lay in each other's arms, their dreams were more ordinary, more pleasant, less fear filled. Nothing disturbed their sleep for the rest of the night. They slipped into the dreamless sleep of those who have loved and been made love to.

oOo

He awoke to confusion and pain. It wasn't like he'd been told. He had never experienced anything like this, being thrust into another's consciousness, taking over another this way, snuffing out someone's life from the inside. Despite the agony that ripped through the newly acquired mind and body, he felt underneath all of the agony, energy, limitless and growing, expanding. It was a heady feeling. It was more powerful than any of the hundreds of other deaths he had caused in a different reality. It filled him with a new lust for taking lives.

He could get use to this.