Lucy lay sprawled across the large low sofa, her feet propped on the arm, and her head buried under a cushion. Her bare left arm was flung aside, her boney fingers still clasped around the stem of her empty champagne flute, and her right hand cradled her buried head. The thin skirt she was wearing was rucked up behind her knees, exposing her long smooth legs to the chill of the Orangery.

The Holmes' boxing day guests, milled around the mansion forming little clicks and groups, all carefully avoiding the sleeping woman. Some of the guests were neighbours, some were tenants, some estate employees and some carefully chosen aquaintances. None of them were friends, the Holmes family didn't have friends. The uninitiated, the strangers, the ones who had yet to see the wrath of the Holmes' were the only ones who even gave Lucy a passing glance.

All that changed early in the afternoon, the house became full of talk about the King George VI stakes at Kempton. Would Kauto Star win another race, his sixth, or would Long Shot return to bring another blip in the great horses form? Suddenly the house was full of people surreptitiously placing bets on their iphones, and it was then that Lucy got her first visitor.

Lying in her original position, she became aware of a small hand grasping her wrist.

"Mummy?" Junior whispered "Mummy, it's can I put a pound on the GG-Bobbos?"

"Which race?" Lucy groaned from under her pillow

"King George Kemton" he lisped

"Yes, put it on Burton Loam" she groaned, turning herself into the pillow. She listened as her youngest child pottered out of the room, carefully closing the glass door behind him.

A few minutes later she heard his happy singing, "I won 100 quid, I won 100quid". Smiling she snuggled back down, trying not to concentrate on her burgeoning hangover. If she continued to be a drunken disgrace hopefully she could be left alone till New Years Day. It wasn't to last.

"Erm Hello?" Posh voiced, male, young early thirties, possible son of neighbours.

"Hello?" Lucy groaned, "what do you want?"

"Well, Hi, erm I heard the little boy saying you picked the winner, 100-1 outsider, I just wondered, erm, the 3.15 at Wolverhampton, any tips?"

Lucy sat up and fixed him with a glare, she looked him up and down, he was lean, needed the money was here to find a job, and took pity on him. "Put £50 on Tornado star to win, I think the odds are 33-1, you'll get a return of £1700" she flopped down onto the sofa again.

Ten minutes later there was a roar, and she smile inwardly.

By 4pm there was a queue to Lucy's sofa, John who had spent most of the afternoon pleasantly engaged with Sherlock came down the stairs and walked into an amused Mycroft.

"What's going on?" He asked pointing at the line.

"Lucille is giving racing tips" Mycroft smiled and shrugged.

"Really?" John asked "Is she any good?"

Just then another cheer erupted from the drawing room.

"Evidently" Mycroft announced before wandering off.

Later that evening, while Sherlock was roaming the now empty house, John turned to the now awake and sober Lucy.

"What was all that about earlier?"

"Huh?"

"The Orangery Tote?"

"Oh" she shrugged, and snuggled into him "The Holmes' can make amazing deductions from single clues, but me? I can read the racing form like Cassandra herself."