Title: A Well Placed Blow
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Rating: G
Length: 550 words
Summary: When going up against card sharps it's as well to be prepared.

Sally Donovan took the last remaining seat at the card table.  The dealer nodded to her and proceeded to deal out the cards.  The first couple of rounds passed without incident, but then, in the middle of the third game, the man to her left suddenly accused the dealer of using marked cards.

The dealer denied it strenuously and the casino manager, hearing the noise, came over.  He suggested that if all parties agreed they would abandon that hand and start a new pack.  That was accepted and play continued. 

Sally noted the man on her left continued to lose more often than he won but didn’t complain again.  It was also clear one of the other players was losing quite badly but seemed determined to continue.  Finally, satisfied she had seen all she wanted to see, she stood up.

“Going so soon?” the woman across the table asked.

“Yes, I’m cutting my losses.”

“Have one more hand, you never know, you may win this time.”

Sally shrugged, “Maybe.  But I’m okay with my decision.”

She walked away.  It was quite likely she would win next time round; the woman would see to that.  But she wouldn’t win all she’d lost, and the intention would be to hook her in to playing several more rounds which she would lose.  Besides which, she now had the information they wanted, and she’d never been a great fan of card games.

She left the casino and got into the car which was waiting for her.

“Success?” Lestrade asked her as he drove them away.

“Oh yes.”  Sally explained the system which was being worked between the woman and the dealer, including the ploy to change the pack of cards.

“I’m impressed,” Lestrade said.  They were stopped at traffic lights, so he turned to face her.  “How did you know what to look for?”

“My cousin Cyril told me.”

“That was good of him.”

“He didn’t dare not.”

“I won’t ask.”

Sally laughed.  “Probably better if you don’t.”

When Sally had been told the plan to send someone into the casino, she had known exactly who to ask for help.  Cyril was a card cheat, and had been for many years; nothing major, just sufficient to ensure it was always someone else who paid for his drinks.  So she’d been to see him.

“I need you to tell me what to look out for if I think a professional poker game is being run dishonestly,” she’d said.

“And what will you do if I refuse to tell you?” Cyril had replied.  “Punch me on the nose?”

“If I have to.”

When they’d been children Sally had noticed Cyril always seemed to win at cards, so one day she’d cornered him and asked him how he did it.  He’d refused to tell her, and she’d hit him on the nose.  Cyril had clearly learnt better over the years, because he told her what she needed to know.

So she’d been prepared when she sat down at that particular table.  It was only one part of a larger scheme, but it meant they had successfully identified three more of the players.

Lestrade was whistling as they drew into the Yard.  Clearly, it wasn’t just Sally who felt they were finally making progress with a complicated case.