Dr. Ogden’s had been lucky enough to swing a brightly lit office upstairs of the Lunatic Asylum. Large windows lined one wall, looking out over the wide lawns where patients could receive art or exercise therapies.

“I would dearly love to help you, gentlemen,” she said from her desk and a small mountain of papers, “but it appears Sherlock Holmes has pulled a disappearing act!” She laughed. “Apparently he gave his coat and hat to the skeleton Detective Murdoch has placed in his office and slipped out unnoticed. If the constables track him down again, let me know and I will be happy to provide a full assessment.”

Do you have a circled S?

“As soon as I entered the room, the patient immediately guessed I was there to provide an assessment of his mental state. Quite impressive, really.”

Dressed in a pale blue number that spoke volumes about how the Doctor did not require work, coming from a wealthy family, most people would’ve been hard-pressed to identify her as a psychiatrist on first sight.

“He also,” she added more shyly, “Deduced that the Detective and I are in a relationship. He’s not psychotic, despite what you may think. His logic is clear.”

“The man genuinely believes that he’s Sherlock Holmes,” we insisted.

“He’s suffering from a delusion of identity. It’s not uncommon. There’s a woman here at the asylum who believes she’s the Queen. As long as their delusion isn’t challenged, they’re quite harmless. More interestingly, the delusion usually arises as a compensatory response to emotional trauma in childhood. He likely already has history with another doctor.”

With that, she scribbled a note on a slip of paper. “Take this to City Records and they’ll provide you with his file if it’s on record.”