With each cut all he found himself wanting to do was close his eyes. Let his mind drift elsewhere into a sea of nothingness, but it seemed Moriarty couldn't even grant him that much. He kept blathering on about finesse and the like. "You only ever could beat me with my hands tied." Voice almost emotionless at this point. Eyes dull and grayed. Expression never changing. Not even when he finally lowered the knife.There wasn't even a sigh of relief, John had shut down that part of his his brain. He didn't want Moriarty to have anymore upper hand than he already did. If he bored him, maybe he would stop all together.
And then..it seemed he had. The knife was jerked out of his skin and he looked up at him in confusion. Graham. He'd tried to keep the psycho occupied instead, and now it'd failed because he wasn't 'entertaining' him enough. John didn't even crack a smile at Moriarty's little joke. But at the prospect of questions he raised an eyebrow.
"Why? What do you want? Thought you knew everything you needed to know.." He said in disbelief as he tasted bits of blood in his mouth that rolled down his face.
Sherlock had told him he was the heart. He didn't want to be the heart anymore. He wanted to forget. He wanted his life back. Just his old dull, before he met Sherlock-life.