"Yeah." That was the problem. Sherlock wasn't there. Sherlock was supposed to be. They were supposed to have a second chance like everyone else. He'd watched him fall once in London, and twice now in Kansas. His brain still couldn't seem to separate Khan and Sherlock, he counted his betrayal as the third time he watched his best friend die.
All he'd wanted was a life of his own. One free of nightmares both waking and R.E.M. but Kansas didn't allow it. Kansas wouldn't let him get back on his feet and he didn't know what to do anymore, or how to react. So he simply stared up at the lights, avoiding eye contact with Khan. Blanket around him more scratchy than comforting against the injuries, he shifted some. His entire body was sore and he wanted to leave. He didn't have the energy.
Moriarty would brag that he won, John knew that but he didn't really care in that moment. Moriarty was deader than dead. That was the only real comfort he'd gained out of the ordeal. The knife guaranteed Moriarty would not be able to return, that was the only thing giving him even the slightest peace.
Though the rest of his face had tightened some in attempt to look more stern, the sadness was obvious in his eyes and unwavering. Even with overhead light there was just nothing left. No spark.
"I want to go home." He didn't specify which home either.