Sherlock was convinced one of the employees of a car dealership was using his access to shipping crates to assist smugglers. Normally, John would have distracted the salesman while Sherlock broke numerous laws in the back, but at some point there'd be a test drive for veracity's sake, and John didn't have a permit. Also, if either of them looked like the type to purchase a luxury car, it was Sherlock.
Sighing, he slipped through the back as Sherlock marched through the front doors, drawing all attention to himself. John peered through the glass partition, watching Sherlock chat and sham his way to a test drive. Certain the salesman was off the premises, he collected the documents he thought were relevant and took photos of everything else. Positive he'd done what he could, John headed back to the flat, as planned.
He was greeted by Sherlock leaning against a sleek silver car, parked illegally in front of their door.
"Why is the car still here?"
"I bought it."
John spluttered. "You bought a bloody Conteninental Supersports? I thought we were there to investigate. How the hell are you going to pay for this? What was it, seventy or eighty thousand?"
"I put it on Mycroft's account. It was closer to a hundred and thirty, John. It is, after all, a Bentley."