Oh. Of course he should expect to be snapped at. He'd almost been enjoying this though, so to be on the receiving end of Watson's irritation is a bit of a wake-up call. He digs the lifts out of his bag and hands them over, and he steps away, awkward and uncomfortable and at odds with himself. He wants to be out of Watson's presence because it kills him that he can't pull him into his arms, and yet he can't bear the thought of being away from him until they can meet up again.

"Not close at all, but we wouldn't want to raise his suspicion too soon. Believe me when I tell you, Watson, that this man is the best shot in all of London. In all of Europe." He pauses, remembering something Moran had revealed to him suddenly. "He's the man that shot you, all that time ago. That was a preview, actually. A warning. Of what was to come."

His eyes darken, and he looks away, down at his shoes.