Jonathan had spent a long time wandering through the crowd, trying not to get trampled by the mob and pulling a few people to safety who had fallen and were either being trampled or were about to be. This was madness - it was one thing to read about a revolution in a book, another one entirely to see it up close and personal.
He made it to the hospital purely by accident, after he'd finally given up searching the street for anyone else he recognized. He knew a very, very little French. Not enough to speak, and not enough to understand more than a few words in a dozen. Still, he knew enough to decipher the sign outside the hospital, and he walked past the gates in hopes of a place that might be at least slightly better protected from the mob.
He leaned against the inside of the gates, catching his breath and giving everything a chance to sink in at last. They were in revolutionary France, with no obvious way home. Their lives were all in immediate peril, and all they could really do was wait to see if the building did something else.
Moriarty spat something about lack of control and making the best of the situation by relying on the others to a point, but only as an alliance of convenience. He knocked his head against the stone, once, and walked away from the gate, up the steps to the hospital.
There was Micah - not who he'd expected to see, though it made sense considering his behavior earlier. "Hey. Find anyone?"