Sherlock shuts his eyes, silently cursing when he hears a voice behind him. If this one had come across the scene even a minute earlier, he would have seen Sherlock approaching the already-dead combatants.

So he's just arrived, and he's already decided to make Sherlock's business his business. Either he's aligned with some organization in particular, or he's very, very stupid.

Although the two are not necessarily exclusive.

Sherlock slips the paper into his coat, surreptitiously looking about for signs of the man's friends, if there are any to be seen.

"I dunno," he answers airily in his Nevarran accented voice, as if they were having an honest intellectual discussion. "Depends on the mage."