Sherlock's eyes blazed with the implication that he would want to hold off on chasing down Moriarty, that wasn't how the game worked. Jim had made the first move, the initial gambit, and now the chess board needed to be played out until checkmate. He pushed himself up from the kitchen chair, a whirl of long limbs and barely suppressed energy.

"Who cares about Mycroft? He's probably already found him, that's what he does with his endless spy network of surveillance cameras, but he won't do anything. Moriarty isn't his, he's mine."

It was a dangerous obsession, almost like two magnets being forced together no matter how bad it would be for them both. He and Moriarty. He looked over at John with a smile.

"The game is on, John, there's no time for snow."