It would have almost been humorous to see him looking at me with such an open expression of confusion, had I not already been so frustrated by his unwillingness to see to his own health.
"But this book indicates that if overtired one should seek occupation, not avoid it," Holmes argued, holding out the volume to me. "Is this not a medical text?"
"It is," I allowed wearily, "but the passage to which you refer is on the prevention of hysteria in women, Holmes."
He fixed me with a look I was more accustomed to seeing turned on Scotland Yard officials. "An overtired woman is prone to hysteria, then?"
"In certain cases, yes," I replied cautiously, trying to determine whether he was sincere in his objections or being deliberately obtuse.
"And an overtired man is prone to nervous collapse?"
"Yes," I agreed again.
"And yet the woman is encouraged to find some occupation for herself while the man is constrained to take no more cases at present and eat when he does not wish to?" Holmes demanded, flinging the volume from him in a fit of pique.
I sighed, rising from my armchair slightly to retrieve the book from the hearthrug. "Have a care with my things, Holmes," I admonished.
"This is intolerable!" he complained, ignoring me. "Is there some symptom you have observed with me which renders this prescription of rest a special case rather than a general solution?"
"No," I returned levelly, "I have told you nothing I would not have told any man who had been using himself up so freely as you have."
"As I thought," snapped Holmes. "Yet the literature on the subject indicates that were I a woman you would be encouraging me to go outdoors and play lawn tennis!"
"I would not tell a woman who had not slept in three days to play lawn tennis," I replied tersely. "I might advise a woman overtaxed by the demands of her work to take up some enjoyable diversion or amusement -"
"Then why should the man be denied as much?" Holmes interjected sharply. "It is unjust."
"It is mere common sense -" I began to say, but he cut me off with a cry of:
"It is tyranny!"
I confess that for the most fleeting of instants I imagined this oration taking place from a soap box on the street corner and my friend engaged in passing out leaflets. I chose, however, to keep this to myself.
"Do you wish to go outside and play lawn tennis?" I snapped at him instead.
"You're missing the point," he replied tersely.
I could only shake my head at the irony.
A/N: Inspired by an excerpt from a chapter on hysteria in one of Mrs. Pencil's entertaining old medical texts.