“Yes, of course we have the complete works of Sherlock Holmes here,” Mrs. Dewar answered. “All fourteen volumes.” She showed us the card catalogue:

“A Scandal in Bohemia” (June 1891)
“The Red-Headed League” (August 1891)
“A Case of Identity” (September 1891)
“The Boscombe Valley Mystery” (October 1891)
“The Five Orange Pips” (November 1891)
“The Man with the Twisted Lip” (December 1891)
“The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle” (January 1892)
“The Adventure of the Speckled Band” (February 1892)
“The Adventure of the Engineer’s Thumb” (March 1892)
“The Adventure of the Noble Bachelor” (April 1892)
“The Adventure of the Beryl Coronet” (May 1892)
“The Adventure of the Copper Beeches” (June 1892)
“The Adventure of Silver Blaze” (December 1892)
“The Adventure of the Cardboard Box” (January 1893)
“The Adventure of the Yellow Face” (February 1893)
“The Adventure of the Stockbroker’s Clerk” (March 1893)
“The Adventure of the Gloria Scott” (April 1893)
“The Adventure of the Musgrave Ritual” (May 1893)
“The Adventure of the Reigate Squire” (June 1893)
“The Adventure of the Crooked Man” (July 1893)
“The Adventure of the Resident Patient” (August 1893)
“The Adventure of the Greek Interpreter” (September 1893)
“The Adventure of the Naval Treaty” (October–November 1893)
“The Final Problem” (December 1893)

“This list is incomplete,” Sherlock said snootily after skimming the list. “My most recent case, The Case of the Vanished Star, is not listed here.”

“There’s no story by that name, sir,” she replied, looking his strange outfit up and down suspiciously. “Sir Arthur Conan Doyle hasn’t written a book in the series in seven years.”

“You mean John Watson,” he corrected. “Arthur Conan Doyle is simply a pseudonym he affects for his writing, though I’ve no idea why.”

“…as you say,” she replied after a moment. Here was a woman who knew how to pick her battles.

“One other question,” Crabtree asked. “Do you happen to know what the word Aurora means?”

“It means sunrise,” she and Sherlock answered simultaneously.

“That was one of my favourite cases,” Mrs. Dewar confessed. “In The Sign of the Four, a treasure was being conveyed on a steamship called the Aurora.”

“This isn’t about The Sign of the Four, though,” Crabtree interrupted.

“No,” Sherlock agreed. “As I said, these circumstances recall The Case of the Vanished Star.”

We bid Mrs. Dewar adieu and headed back out into the street. “You know, I’ve read all of your cases,” Crabtree confided. “But I don’t think I’ve read The Case of the Vanished Star.”

Sherlock frowned. “One of my most troubling cases. It was ten years ago. I had just solved the case of The Sign of the Four and was about to conduct chemical experiments with gypsum when a young lad appeared at my door. He was about thirteen, although the sorrow in his eyes made him look older.”

“He wanted me to solve the murder of his father,” Sherlock continued. He appeared unusually serious and subdued as he explained the case. “And retrieve the Star of Tarsus. The boy’s father had joined with a couple of thieves to steal a precious diamond from a regular exhibit at an embassy in the city. They replaced it with a glass replica so no one would know it was gone.”

“And what happened to the father?” Crabtree asked.

“He was double crossed. The henchman, Moran, shot him on the orders of Moriarty, but not before he hid the diamond where only his son would know where to look.”

“And where was that?” Crabtree asked.

“I don’t know.” Sherlock sighed. “He promised his son a clue would come to him but none ever did.”

“And what was this boy’s name?”

“If memory serves me correctly, his name was David Kingsley.”