With his heart thumping against his sternum and blood pounding in his ears, Sebastian Moran forged a half-hearted, lopsided smile to himself in honour of his latest accomplishment. After 4 hours of waiting on his stomach in torrential rain, gravel puncturing the skin of his forearms, at 765 yards, the bullet from his AEK-971 -a much appreciated Christmas present from the Boss after his 'business trip' to Russia- went right through the conveniently open window and straight into the conveniently waiting unlucky entrepreneur's skull. Fucking ace. Well, he wasn't called the crack shot colonel for nothing.
His breath escaped in short ragged bursts, creating puffs of billowing steam in the harsh January air as he ran his index finger down the thin barrel of the rifle, biting his lip at the pleasant heat beneath his calloused skin. Beautiful. Absolutely bloody brilliant.
The pure ambience of the slowing rain and a distant sound of traffic was almost perfect, until Moran caught sight of the time on his watch and shattered the illusion with a shout of "Bollocks!", snapping himself out of his daze before quickly disassembling the rifle with the skilled, nimble fingers of his right hand, and pulling his phone out of his pocket with his left. He pressed '1' on speed dial and propped the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he continued to take apart the weapon.

Ringing
Ringing
Ringing

"Hi this is Richard,"
Sebastian huffed. "Jim it's only me you don't ha…"
"You've reached me! Congratulations! –muffled laughing- Sorry I can't take your call right now, I must be busy filming. –more muffled laughing-"
"Oh you absolute tosser."
"Leave me a message after the tone and I'll get back to you, cheers!"
"4am? When the fuck did it turn 4am Jim? You were meant to call at 2. This place fucking opens in half an hour!" He exhaled heavily and closed his eyes. "You better be awake when I get home you Irish fucker, and if you're not, I will personally castrate you. Dickhead." He spat, packing the last of his equipment into an inconspicuous gym bag.
"Oh and since when have you been Richard on your voicemail as well? I swear you're a fucking method actor sometimes." And with that, he hung up, sliding the horrendously expensive phone back into the pocket of his too-tight jeans. It had just begun to get light as he made his way down from the rooftop, bag slung over his shoulder and sandy blonde hair still slicked to perfection.

Professional as ever, Sebastian crept out through the back doors, and hailed the first cab he could find on the streets of Shepherds Bush at Four Thirty in the morning.

'God bless London and her ever-running taxi service' he thought to himself.