[ Moriarty was definitely an unassuming man at first glance. John hadn’t paid him much credence when he made his first appearance at Bart’s, aside from the fact that Sherlock had spurned him. He did the victim very well. Even when the man was shouting and threatening to skin his connections, John couldn’t take him very seriously. But he was scared of him. He was terrified of the idea of a man who would readily spirit away innocent people for the sake of showing off, and he was afraid of what he might be planning, not just for he and Sherlock, but Luceti itself.
But someone needed to stand up to Moriarty. Sherlock was someone with the ability to do that, and John wanted to stand beside him. So far as the current argument went, John didn’t fool himself to think it was settled, but this was not the place to talk about it.
He returned to set a steaming cup before Sherlock, and didn’t pause to circle around and settle down in the open chair nearby. Seemed like he was less inclined to put his back to Moriarty than he was to set his side against Sherlock’s. He seemed content to share the silence that often developed between two people who knew one another, although to say he was content in general would be a grave mistake. His hand, the one which trembled occasionally when he was lax and warm in the armchair at home, was perfectly steady now on the handle of his cup. There was a slow breath across the tea before he sipped. His eyes flickered down to Sherlock’s fingers on the table, then up to the man himself - steady... A sip. ]
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But someone needed to stand up to Moriarty. Sherlock was someone with the ability to do that, and John wanted to stand beside him. So far as the current argument went, John didn’t fool himself to think it was settled, but this was not the place to talk about it.
He returned to set a steaming cup before Sherlock, and didn’t pause to circle around and settle down in the open chair nearby. Seemed like he was less inclined to put his back to Moriarty than he was to set his side against Sherlock’s. He seemed content to share the silence that often developed between two people who knew one another, although to say he was content in general would be a grave mistake. His hand, the one which trembled occasionally when he was lax and warm in the armchair at home, was perfectly steady now on the handle of his cup. There was a slow breath across the tea before he sipped. His eyes flickered down to Sherlock’s fingers on the table, then up to the man himself - steady... A sip. ]