"Come, Watson," Sherlock Holmes said as we made our way through the streets of Berlin. "I told our client we would call on him at eight and it is almost eight now."

I tore my gaze from the sights of the city, one which had only risen to prominence in international politics in the last twenty years. It was a very different city from London or Edinburgh; the weight of years was less visible here, but there was an unmistakable aura of progress. "I am still unsure why you did not take our client up on his offer to stay in his home during our stay. We know no one here, and as we have already seen, our German is barely proficient." Having a local guide would only have made our stay easier. It had taken almost fifteen minutes to ask for directions to our hotel. Finally, between my schoolboy German and Holmes's natural ear for languages, we managed it, but I had found the experience disconcerting.

Holmes smiled, "Watson, you know I prefer to remain independent as much as possible, and accepting our client's hospitality would have interfered too much with the investigation for my liking."

I shook my head, knowing Holmes's stubbornness. Although he had, on previous occasions, stayed with a client during the course of an investigation, I knew he was much more comfortable with only myself as companion, or else alone. He far preferred the inconvenience of traveling in a foreign country without knowing the language to being at the mercy of a host.

We were approaching our client's residence, a handsome house of palatial size that seemed to be one of the city's oldest residences. A servant answered the door and led us into what I presumed to be the study, where a strongly-built man at least a decade older than either Holmes or I waited.

"Good afternoon," our host said in perfect, but heavily accented English. "I am Herr Gunther Wassermein. I am so happy you were able to come to Berlin to help me sort out this problem."

Holmes stopped looking around the foyer and said. "This is my friend and associate, Dr. Watson."

Herr Wassermein nodded to me, then said, "I have been almost distraught these last few days. I cannot imagine what has happened to my prize diamond. I was sure I put it right back in the safe but when I looked, it was not there." Seeing the confusion on both our faces, he smiled ruefully. "I am sorry, perhaps I should begin again. While I do so, I will show you the places in the house that figure in my story."

Herr Wassermein led us into his library, telling us of a prize diamond he had bought from an explorer in the recent acquisitions of German West Africa. After putting it away in the safe one night, he had had a horrible dream that it was stolen, and rising to check on it, had found it missing.

"I am sure, Mr. Holmes, that there was someone in my home that night, but I saw nothing of them," Herr Wassermein assured us. Holmes ignored him, the familiar gleam of the hunt in his eyes. He looked over the entire room in his methodical way. He seemed especially interested in the safe, asking if it had come with the house and if the combination had been changed. Wassermein admitted it had been there before he'd bought the house, and that the lock had not been changed to his knowledge. Once or twice after that Holmes exclaimed softly, but explained nothing. Herr Wassermein and I watched with interest until the detective stood up and brushed off his clothes as if he had done nothing unusual.

"I see several points of interest here," Holmes declared. Surveying the room once more, his gaze fell upon a handsome violin in a glass case. His eyes widened. "Is that a Stradivarius?"

"Yes, it is," Herr Wassermein said proudly. "I do not play, myself, but I occasionally loan it to the Berlin Philharmonic. Not too often, of course. Do you play, Mr. Holmes?"

"Yes, I do," Holmes said with a hint of wistfulness in his tone, before the steel returned to his face and he swept out the door, leaving me to take our leave of Herr Wassermein.

Holmes said little for the remainder of the night, and I was unable to tell if his silence was due to his concentration on the case or the knowledge that such a handsome instrument was so close. He had been complaining about his own Stradivarius for some time, saying that it had a beat-up appearance and no longer produced the same sweetness of sound. Only last week I had to rescue the instrument from ending its days in Mrs. Hudson's kitchen cabinets after his latest fit of frustration. I myself had told him at the time that it was probably not the soundest decision to buy a violin for only fifty-five shillings in a broker's, Stradivarius or no. Holmes always laughed off my concerns and professed he could not afford anything better than what he already owned. He was an accomplished musician when he chose to truly play instead of merely scratching at the strings and I felt it a shame that such a great student of music should have to struggle with an inferior instrument while someone who did not even play owned something so fine.

It proved to be a simple enough case; the previous owner of the house had retained a key without Herr Wassermein's knowledge, and having fallen on hard times after using up the funds from the sale of the house, thought he would help himself to some of his successor's riches. Holmes unveiled the diamond in his typically dramatic fashion, maintaining his silence until he could bring the diamond to Herr Wassermein's study and unveil it there.

"It proved to be easy to track; it was common knowledge that this was the largest diamond yet mined in German West Africa," Holmes explained. "As such, it would have been very difficult to sell, since most buyers knew you owned it already."

"Why, Mr. Holmes, this is incredible. You are truly worthy of your reputation!" Wassermein said in awe, shaking my friend's hand in gratitude. "Please tell me how I can reward you, and your friend, for your assistance."

"I have told you my fees," Holmes said. "However, if there were something else I would like…?"

"You have only to name it, my dear sir!"

Holmes strode over to the glass case and motioned to the Stradivarius. "I should very much like to have this violin, if it is not objectionable to you?"

Wassermein hesitated for only a moment before breaking out in a grin, "It is no trouble. I would have paid you twice its worth had you asked. The violin is yours, sir."

Holmes's normally pale face flushed with gratitude, "Then I thank you, sir. You have made me very happy, and I suspect, saved Watson from many concerts on a less musically sound instrument." He shot me a mischievous look and I resisted the urge to laugh.

Holmes could hardly wait to return to the hotel room that night, rushing through our dinner so he could begin playing his new violin. During our much shortened meal, he regaled me with the history of Stradivarius and why his violins were the best ever made. Once in our hotel room, he set bow to strings and slowly drew out the loveliest note that I had ever heard. It was not difficult to see that this violin was far superior to the one her already owned, and Holmes's face appeared enraptured. He played the entire night, almost exhausting his considerable repertoire of memorized pieces, and taking any requests I could give him. His joy was so palpable I did not even mind being kept up all night by violin music. He was as accomplished a musician as he was a detective, and I thought with some regret that the world had lost a fine violinist the day Holmes chose to pursue detective work as a career.

Then again, the world had also lost a criminal of rare ability, so on balance I supposed one should be grateful Holmes had chosen to be what he was. There were many violinists, and more than enough criminals, but I have yet to see another detective even close to his abilities.