[Sholmes makes a noise at the back of his throat, barely holding back his clear amusement. He fishes in his pocket for his pipe and brings it to his mouth, balancing it between his lips. He makes no attempt to light it just yet--some of these establishments are rather fussy about smoking indoors, a concept very strange for a Victorian man used to fogging up the room with shag tobacco smoke--but it's a familiar gesture all the same.]

I admit it isn't how I would perform if given the choice, but there's something very bracing about being on stage with so many lights flashing about, and the lyrics so clearly on display for a man to see.

[Here, he does laugh. And if Kate hopes that he's considerate enough to not take his winnings, she would be wrong. Sholmes takes the vouchers with a sense of satisfaction; perhaps they'll work as further bargaining chips down the line, depending upon who else he stumbles into.]

Are you really so arrested by stage fright that you'd give up all your free drinks to avoid my little game?