Three rooftops and one rickety fire escape later, Sherlock is filling John in on his newest plan beside the back door of a dodgy looking chip shop.

It is, by far, the most ludicrous thing he has ever heard. Bear in mind, several hours ago, he was wearing a cravat.

"Hire them? Hire them? You want to walk into an abandoned warehouse to meet several notorious hit men- who are currently planning to systematically detonate London- and say 'Hello chaps, I'm Sherlock Holmes the Consulting Detective and I'd like you to kill someone for me?' And you think THIS WILL WORK?"

John realizes that he's shouting a bit, but honestly, he thinks the situation calls for it.

Sherlock looks mildly perturbed. "No John, I am not going to say, as you put it, Hello chaps, I'm Sherlock Holmes the Consulting Detective and I'd like you to kill someone for me. No, the sicari are going to meet with a Belarusian mobster who's having a small problem with a disloyal employee, and would like to have the situation rectified." He pauses. "Do you think I could get them to kill Anderson?"

John moves to nip that in the bud "No. Lestrade would probably make sure that his replacement was worse." Then the rest of the conversation catches up to him. "Wait. A Belarusian mobster? Really? Where are we going to find a Belarusian mobster at this time in the afternoon… Oh, no. No, no, no. Sherlock Holmes, wipe that smirk off your face this instant thisisserious!"

Sherlock grins, and, layering on a thick Russian accent, smiles at him. "Da. I'm aware."