A/N: Well, I'm back. This is going to make more sense to British people who spend some Saturday nights doing nothing like me and watching crap TV. For those of you who do not have the joy of Take Me Out on your TV, it's basically a dating game show, where a man can win a date. Wiki it. This a crack fic in case you haven't worked it out. As always, Sherlock (I wish) and Take Me Out (thank God) do not belong to me. I have made up all the girls, and due to rules, I have made up a host, Phil. Sorry Paddy.

Sherlock stood at the top of the lift, wondering how the hell he had got there. This was all John's fault. John Bloody Watson and his stupid ideas. And possibly some of Sherlock's stupid ego, but he was never going to admit to that. It started off with a bet, a bet that escalated and now could end up in total humiliation. They were watching Saturday night television with Chinese takeout, it being a slow week and them having no cases on. They had flicked over from a repeat of Doctor Who, due to Sherlock pointing out every scientific inaccuracy possible ("She can't be their daughter! Look at the way she's standing!") and onto Take Me Out.

"What is this rubbish, John?"

"This, Sherlock, is Saturday night prime time TV"

They sat and watched for a few minutes.

"So is this why most of the population's has brains made up of mush? This show is enough to reduce anyone's brain into goo…"

"Shut up and watch, Sherlock."

So he had sat through the entire show, watching 4 idiots getting turned down by 30 girls. He watched them perform like circus ponies and reveal secrets to national television just to gain a date.

"Well it showed an interesting side of human nature," he said once it had finished.

"I'm glad you saw the bonus points of it."

"Still, it's a side I never want to see again," he said picking up his violin.

"C'mon Sherlock, doing that takes courage."

"Courage? More like stupidity," he snorted, "Courage is fighting off a underground cult of Chinese mafia. Not appearing on… That."

"I bet you wouldn't have the balls to do it."

"I have balls."

"Prove it."

And that's how he ended up here.

John even managed to get a crowd to come. Molly, Mycroft, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade and those who wanted to see him humiliated: Anderson and Donovan. Actually, they were all there to see him humiliated.

He closed his eyes and let the music wash over him as he went down. Beethoven's Violin Concerto in D major. One of his favourites, and one that summed him up perfectly in his mind: elegant, high flown and superior. And on a simplistic level: he likes to play the violin. He walked out into the light and straight to Phil Anston. Now here was an interesting chap. Full grey suit, open collar, shirt slightly untucked: prefers to be dressed casually but feels like this attire suits the show more. Wedding band shiny, which he occasionally twists: recently married. Sherlock continued to spot things, making him feel more comfortable about where he was.

"Look at this fine specimen, ladies" Phil roared clapping Sherlock around the shoulder. Sherlock resisted the urge to run as fast as possible from this man and gave a forced smile instead.

"Hello, my name is Sherlock and I am from London."

The crowd went wild, why Sherlock didn't know.

"Girls, I give you Sherlock, now, are you turned on, or turned off?"

10 lights went red. Obviously some people had no appreciation for classical music.

"It's OK, decent number left," Phil said warmly to Sherlock, "I'll go have a chat with the girls."

"Annie," he roared stopping beside a dyed platinum blond haired girl with far too much make up, Sherlock couldn't even be bothered to analyse, "Why are you turned off?"

"Well, Phil," she turned to Sherlock, "This is nothing against you or anything," South East London accent, Sherlock noted, "But I think you're far too sophisticated for me, that's all. I'm not really into classical music or nuffin." Damn right I'm too sophisticated for you.

"Sherlock," said Phil almost sadly, "What do you make of that?"

Sherlock had a split second to think of a reply did not make him sound like, as John likes to refer to him, a dick.

"While I do like the finer things in life," The crowd went 'ooohhh', "I'm not entirely sophisticated; I spend too much time in the café next to my flat to be wholly refined," he finished with a small (and what he hoped charming, smile). He was pleased, he hadn't lied at all, (or he forfeits to John) and he hadn't sounded like a dick.

"And Kaitlin," said Phil moving on, stopping by a tall brunette with green eyes and, a thought that briefly flitted through Sherlock's brain, a charming smile, "Why is your light, still on?"

"Well, Phil," her voice was quite nice too; another thought that flitted through Sherlock's brain, "I do enjoy the finer things in life too," the way she said it made it sound like there was an innuendo in there, but Sherlock could not think of any.

"Right then ladies," said Phil moving on, "Let's see what you think after round 2!"

Sherlock had to stifle a groan as the video began. Of course, he knew what was in his parts; it was just bits with his family and friends that was going to be the problem...

A/N: So, this is my return. And first multi-chapter story. Please give me a review :)