That laugh made him regret flinching. In the past he might not have, but now he was unable to help it. Just like he was unable to help the nightmares and flashbacks. Moriarty had gotten to him since their last meeting. Since Reichenbach. John was mentally scarred. He was meant to protect his best friend and thanks to Jim Moriarty he hadn't even been able to do that much. Thanks to the seed of doubt that man had placed in the mind of the world, he couldn't save Sherlock and now things were going that way all over again. He felt sick. "Of course I care." He was lying a little, but Moriarty didn't need to know that.
"She'll get whatever she deserves then and I'll feel nothing but justified." John couldn't keep his eyes open much longer, but he feared closing them so he fought until they burned and fought some more. "Tastes awful anyway." Jim Moriarty had ruined tea. If he did die, he was going to make sure to come back and haunt him for the rest of his life for that.
But he wouldn't die. Sherlock would find him and he could find better tea. He would look until he found a proper replacement that could undo the damage Moriarty had done to his favorite pastime if it were even possible anymore. "It doesn't matter how you think it's going to happen, because it's not." He managed as the tea was removed from his sight and winced yet again at the sound of Moriarty's shrill voice. Where the hell was Sherlock? If Moriarty's voice was the last thing he heard, John would also be making a post death trip to Sherlock's to haunt him for being late too.
He had to stop thinking like that. He wasn't going to die. Neither was Sherlock, they would live through this. They would see tomorrow and it would be a better day. He would wake up and Sherlock would have his nose buried in a case folder and the world would keep turning.
John couldn't avoid the strike, he couldn't really even duck the way Moriarty had him. All he could do was take the brunt of that strike and groan in pain, and let darkness drown him in a sea of unconsciousness.