"Hold on, I've got a better idea. If I'm going to have this guy at my neck I might as well have myself a drink. Plus I've been chit-chatting all the way to a dry throat. " Moriarty pointed at the detective then grabbed a scotch glass and filled it with the amber-coloured alcohol before drinking it.
"You're just going to let him hit you?" Sherlock asked.
"I'm proving my point. Plus, I was in the military- the guys always hit each other for fun. I never got it, but it made me a tougher person." John replied casually.
"That was four years, two months, and sixteen days ago John!" Sherlock shouted as he winced in effort to get himself off of the floor since he was sore from falling onto it.
The psychotic man returned to his original place and prepared himself. John stood seriously before him and waited for the impact while Moriarty drew back his fist. Sherlock had just stood back up on his feet, about a meter away from the other two men.
"This is the first time I'll be getting my hands dirty in quite a while. Thank you, doctor, you're really helping me feel better. It's refreshing." Jim crowed in his mock-child voice, releasing the stench of alcohol heavily into the air.
He threw his punch, aiming straight for John's face, with fantastic accuracy for someone who hadn't physically hurt someone themselves for a long time. John's body fell backwards from the hard hit and landed on the floor with blood streaming from his nose. His eyes had shut completely in pain and he groaned, pinching the top of his nose to stop the blood. At the same time, Jim stood back and enjoyed what he believed to be his last moments before Sherlock would attack him.
The detective looked down at his friend and offered him his hand to get off the ground. John refused, trying to stop the blood flow from his nose and feeling too hurt to move much. Sherlock's anger was fueled by these actions and he turned to face his murderous enemy.
"I knew something like this was going to happen. You're so predictable, darling." Jim crooned with a smirk.
Sherlock's ice-cold stare bore into him, giving off the most treacherous expression possible. But he did something not as predictable at that moment- kneel down at where the doctor was lying and make sure that he was feeling alright. Moriarty's dark eyes widened in confusion briefly before going back to their easy-going look. Sherlock handed John something to wipe the blood off with and worriedly thought of ways to make his friend more comfortable (after all, he was lying on the floor).
"Ooh, that's ingenius. You actually show care towards Doctor Watson and surprise me. Well, partially." Moriarty's tone drifted up and down as he spoke.
He got up from his knees, all worry disappearing from his face, and glared back at his enemy without saying a word. Jim's smirk remained present on his face as the detective stepped closer to him in order to gain proximity. His face showed no emotions while his right hand formed a fist behind his back, quickly flying to land on Jim's face- the exact same spot that he had hit John. Moriarty also fell backwards, but hit the corner of two walls with his forehead before collapsing on the ground.
He groaned, much like the way people do when faced with almost, if not actual, fatal injuries. Then he started to chuckle from the floor, celebrating the fact that he had proven himself right in his and John's argument. Dark red blood spilled from a cut on his forehead where he hit the corner of the walls and it stained the creme-coloured rug his head rested upon. John stood over him after his nosebleed had ended and knit his brows in wonder at how this madman could be laughing at that point. Sherlock was tugging his sleeve, trying to pull John away so he wouldn't be tempted to cause more damage to Moriarty.
The anger was still there, it was just masked under worry for John. Though he was a retired army doctor, there was probably a large chance that he could still be frightened by extremely high levels of violence. Sherlock knew he had to leave as soon as possible before he turned monstrous at Jim and killed him with his bare hands right then and there in the hotel suite. The intoxicated criminal remained on the ground as Sherlock pulled John by the wrist into the hall and down the marble staircase to the main lobby area in order to leave the building.
Out on the street directly in front of the ballroom building, John paused and caused his friend to turn around. He thanked and complimented Sherlock on his care towards him when Moriarty punched him, which turned out to hurt more than he thought it would. The detective awkwardly stood, not knowing how to respond properly to John's sincerity. A loud glass-being-broken clash sound broke the silence and Sherlock protectively moved his arm over John's body.
Something landed on the ground a few meters away and alarms began to go off within the massive building. Guests started rushing to the doors and exiting the ballroom in their exquisite clothing that wasn't protecting them from the nippy night air. Both Sherlock and John shoved themselves into a cab, before anyone else could, heading straight to Baker Street. Sherlock had a lot to think about and John would have to spend the night over in his old flat. Mary wouldn't appreciate him barging into the house and making loads of noise when he got home in the wee hours of morning after he had finished with that part of assisting on the case. The roads were blocked with other cabs, buses, and people's vehicles. All so eager to get to where ever they were going at two in the damn morning, John thought to himself with a sigh.
