While being paranoid was necessary in the City these days, falling too deep into it could become a weakness. Sherlock was constantly holding his in check, barely, so it was easy to see Mitch's slipping through. Easier than his facial features, but that didn't go unnoticed either. Sherlock put his cigarette back between his lips and raised his hands in mock surrender.

"Hey, hey, just a friendly suggestion. Last thing I want to do is get some innocent saps arrested." He finished off his cigarette with another long drag and dropped the stub to the ground. It vanished into the shadows, and Sherlock looked Mitch directly in his covered eyes.

"But really," he sighed, all signs of the Brooklyn accent vanishing, "Do brush up on your Latin. It is part of lawmaking, isn't it?" When he dropped the facade, Sherlock almost seemed like an entirely different person. He didn't wait for any shock or denials from Mitch.

"I'll be at the shop for most of the night, if you care to reminisce with your old friend." He wasn't sure that the invitation would even be heeded, but it was worth the effort to at least settle the mystery about Adrian Maskin for himself.

Having dispensed that last pent up bit of wry wit, Sherlock vanished into the shadows. All that remained of him was the autographed book, discarded on the ground with his cigarette butt.