Sherlock ran through the possibilities of what Moriarty might intend for when John arrived. His thoughts worked at a rapid pace, running through the corridors of his mind palace, but there were too many variables to work with. He could intend to kill Sherlock. No, discarded as foolish, he liked Sherlock alive as a playmate. He could kill innocents and have John and Sherlock hunt them out in a macabre guessing game. Unlikely, it would be too repetitious after the bomb treasure hunt and Moriarty liked to keep people on their toes. He could actually want them for twister and tea, also unlikely and almost ludicrous. He may intend to kill John, for nothing else would motivate Sherlock quite as much as that. Unfortunately, a dangerous possibility.

He stretched in his chair, long legs crossing one over the other. His voice was deceptively mild, as if asking for more tea, but there was a stern firmness behind each word that said he was not bluffing.

"If you harm John, I'll bite off my own tongue and end the game prematurely."

Ever the flair for the dramatic. But Sherlock had never had a friend before, only Redbeard his dog, and he feared losing John with an intensity that didn't quite make sense to him. He had not lost anyone before, there was no trauma there, but still the fear was encompassing enough to have him willing to sacrifice himself before he saw John killed.