Sherlock was sweaty, dirty, and immensely pleased by the time the competition ended. Although he hadn't won first place, he'd certainly done far better than he'd anticipated for someone so out of practice. All those dancing and fencing lessons as a child had certainly paid off. It was like riding a bike, the footwork and strategy coming back to him in a rush of muscle memory. And if he kept glancing at the stands to monitor John's reactions, well. Sherlock wasn't exactly subtle about his priorities, however he tried to hide it.
He'd gravitated toward John immediately after the event concluded, of course, grinning wide. "What did you think?" Sherlock asked, definitely hedging for compliments and not caring a wit about whether it was obvious or not. He lingered with the doctor for a moment or two while the crowd dispersed, then began to leave the field only when he thought they were relatively alone.
That's when he spotted Moriarty.
While Sherlock's gait slowed only half a step in surprise, he recovered quickly — and made sure to quicken his pace before John could react. It was an unconscious move to place himself between the two men, ensuring that whatever Moriarty wanted, it would be directed at him first. "How nice of you to come," Sherlock replied smoothly, accepting the bouquet of flowers with a fake smile. "Apple blossoms. How poetic." The detective flicked his gaze over the shorter man briefly. He didn't seem to be armed, but it was difficult to tell with a man who was as accomplished at crime as Moriarty. "Still interested in dueling me sometime, Jim?" Sherlock asked in an innocent tone, though it was clear he thought highly of his skills with a sword now.