"Mycroft won't come himself." Sherlock didn't deny that he had sent a message that way, it would at least severely limit what time Moriarty had to play with. Mycroft would mobilise his many underlings to have Sherlock extracted safely. Judging on his brother's night routine - Diogenes club and whist on a Friday come snow or shine - it would likely take him between thirty and thirty two minutes to pick up the message. A further six to issue orders, and a final thirteen to get people to his location. Perhaps an hour at the absolute outside for anything to happen.

He relaxed back into his chair and observed Moriarty closely. It was so hard to get a read on a man who could be all things and nothing in the flicker of an eye.

"It seems we have limited time, and I'm sure you'll want to be away before company arrives." Moriarty might be bored, but Sherlock was sure that he wouldn't risk capture just to play this night. "So why don't we get started?"