I have so deep a respect for the extraordinary qualities of
Holmes that I have always deferred to his wishes, even when I
least understood them. But now all my professional instincts
were aroused. Let him be my master elsewhere, I at least was his
in a sick room.

"Holmes," said I, "you are not yourself. A sick man is but a
child, and so I will treat you. Whether you like it or not, I
will examine your symptoms and treat you for them."

He looked at me with venomous eyes.

"If I am to have a doctor whether I will or not, let me at least
have someone in whom I have confidence," said he.

"Then you have none in me?"

"In your friendship, certainly. But facts are facts, Watson,
and, after all, you are only a general practitioner with very
limited experience and mediocre qualifications. It is painful to
have to say these things, but you leave me no choice."

I was bitterly hurt.

"Such a remark is unworthy of you, Holmes. It shows me very
clearly the state of your own nerves. But if you have no
confidence in me I would not intrude my services. Let me bring
Sir Jasper Meek or Penrose Fisher, or any of the best men in
London. But someone you MUST have, and that is final. If you