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Summary
“I don’t think I’ll want to talk about this again. There’s no point. But I have to ask, did you even once…at least tell me, while I was dying back here, waltzing into a goddamn spider’s snare, at least tell me you thought of me when you were away.”
Sherlock blinks once, twice, then stands up.
“Of course. Of course you can’t even answer that. Go, go sulk in your room.”
“No, John. I’m going to answer you,” Sherlock starts unbuttoning his shirt. “You’re the one who’s still not ‘getting it.’ Moriarty was never going to kill me, not straight away. He was going to kill YOU."