"Yes, I know, I was hoping to beat the snow. However, it beat me instead." He had arrived to the lightrail station just an hour before they decided to shut down. It would be a few more minutes until he caught a ride to a secluded spot in Ravenmoore, and he intended to hide there until the weekend was finished. His run-in with the god of evil scared him enough to retire until the work week returned, and that was rare for Jim Moriarty. A self-proclaimed criminal mastermind, his gears were always turning, always considering his next move. And yet, sitting there on that bench, he did not intend to move at all. That was until he heard Sherlock's voice and, well, things were changing.
He finally turned to face Sherlock and could not help the bright smile that swept over his face. A twisted sense of joy overwhelmed his spirits and made them brighter. In all that had happened in Preya since his arrival, this sense of home was most welcomed. Of course, glancing at the hand in Sherlock's pocket and the tension on the man's face... it was obvious that Sherlock was not at all happy to see him. A bad, bad boy. That part had him beaming.
"If we're not going for a romantic getaway, then can we at least make snow angels outside?" Jim asked, trying to hold back a chuckle, as he already knew the answer to that. Still, it was amusing at the mere thought of doing anything other than picking Sherlock's brain, as this was something he had longed for since arriving. He'd never admit it though, although the joy on his face made that very clear.
He stood up from the bench, stretching his arms over his head with a loud yawn, and then slung his bag's straps over his shoulders. "As for you jumping from a roof, are you implying I do that or is it a sincere question and cry for help? I could offer genuine advice, even heartfelt, but I doubt I'm your primary source for encouragement. After all, the last time we saw each other, I..." Then he held two fingers to his head and flicked his thumb as if pulling a trigger.