Sherlock's eyes rolled at the idea of it being a romantic gesture. People, even Moriarty it seemed, were so fixated on the idea that to love someone deeply was to care for them on a romantic level. Sherlock was a man of logic, romance had no place in his life. His love for John was-- odd, granted, but the strength of it did not wax or wane on romantic entanglement.

Nor was he particularly worried that Moriarty would be able to stop him from dying. He could be an extremely stubborn man when he wanted to be, and he would certainly be stubborn in that regard.

"No."

The response was short and brusque as he watched John get out of the car. He could hit his flatmate right about now, what kind of idiot was he? He never observed. He never stopped to look at his surroundings and deduce that there may be something odd here and that he should leave. No, he just blithely came on in. Idiot.

"I'm afraid you're not quite that persuasive, Jimmy."