When Moriarty mentions manners, John laughs— if you can call the half smile and small noise laughter. The glare in his eyes doesn't leave. Manners. Who is Moriarty to talk about manners? Bloody bastard.
Prepared for the inevitable. He says it like he can already see what John's going to do, how he's going to act, and for second, he just wonders—-
Are you going to break all their arms...?
But he doesn't need to dwell on Jim's bloody speeches, he doesn't need to think about them more than the time it takes to dismiss them completely.
But he knows the words will probably come back to him, as Moriarty's words tend to, no matter how useless they seem.
Sometimes, he really wishes he had Sherlock's power to delete things.
His eyes follow Jim's hand as it moves to his pocket, studying the box, questions on his mind as it ends on the table. He doesn't move towards it, even though he wants to. Partly because it's dangerous (although to be fair, that probably one of the reasons he wants to grab it), and partly because he doesn't want Moriarty to know he's that curious.
When he speaks again, John's head snaps up, looking back at him, barely a blink at the blow to his intelligence. It's happened many times in the last few years, being the dumbest one in the room. He's used to it.
The longer Moriarty speaks, though, the angrier John gets. The almost-smile fades as Moriarty's gaze falls on the photograph, and turns into almost a snarl as he speaks. He wants to swear, he wants to punch the criminal in the face, but he knows if he does it might rank as one of the stupidest things he's ever done in his life.
"Get out." He doesn't say anymore, and he's not even sure if Moriarty will listen, but he's absolutely through listening to him. "Leave."
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