Sherlock stares across the coffee table at Moriarty. He sits, legs crossed at the ankle, tossing his apple from hand to hand before continuing to carve into its skin with a knife.
"In a world of locked rooms, the man with the key is king. And honey, you should see me in a crown." he drawls.
Sherlock refrains from saying that he has. He saw the footage from the tower. He looked...
Fine. Maybe Moriarty looked good in a crown. Whatever. You didn't hear it from Sherlock. He doesn't need to know that. So Sherlock bites his tongue, looks down for a moment and forces himself not to smile. Because truthfully?
Moriarty should wear a crown all the time.