It's honestly playing out like deja vu and James sighs, wants to roll his eyes but decides against it in favor of feigning interest. His tone peaks as he drifts forward, neck jutting forward to peek at the set-up. Just like old times, even though it wasn't that long ago that they did this. Sat in these chairs - not the same but the people that sat in them were so it still counts - and had a little heart to heart.

He smirks.

"What kind of game, Sherly darling?" He says it just to grate the detective. See how hard he was trying to avoid wringing Moriarty's neck before the perfect moment. Or how close he was to giving up. Either or, he would take one.