[ The look makes John grit his jaw, but he doesn't move off. No, he may not understand, but that doesn't mean that he's wrong, either. Right now, objectively, he knows that Moriarty isn't nearly as much of a threat as the mysterious Malnosso, who send them forth as a personal army and pull them from their beds for experiments. They're worse than Moriarty, in a way. At least Moriarty's destruction has a finality to it.

You don't know.

It's one of the few times that he's got an advantage of knowledge over the detective, but he's not entirely smug over it. Soon enough, Sherlock will know as well and, if he doesn't acknowledge that Moriarty is currently a small fish at the moment, he's biased and that's all there is to it. John owes no allegiance or reverence to Moriarty as a criminal mind. The fact that Sherlock is offended now is a matter of pride.

John lets him go, shifting back at the question, moving for another needle on the bedside table. This one he'll have to prepare from one of the liquid medications nearby. ]

Did you think I built a tent? There are flats. Mine has three bedrooms and one bath. No kitchen, though. It's a shared one for the floor.