From W. Y. Traveller - Pandora's Box
It is an amazing gift, truly. No, Watson corrects himself, not a gift. Holmes's intellect is a gift, perhaps, but his deductions are a skill long honed and striven towards. Watson himself has made some small progress under Holmes's tutelage, but he doubts he could ever match the great detective. He is not so sure he would ever want to.
Even now, it can be overwhelming. He never gave much thought to his patients' personal lives before, beyond the pertinent details which they wished to impart. Now though, their lives shine from them. He cannot deny it has made him a better Doctor in many respects. Finding a diagnosis is similar, after all, to finding the culprit in a particularly complex crime. Nevertheless, there are times it threatens to overwhelm him.
The faint scent of cologne and the fearful eyes tell him this pregnancy is borne of an affair; the half-hidden bruise reveals a husband with a temper; and then there is the request for something to help her sleep. Watson looks at the smudges under her eyes, the too-pale complexion. She says she is only tired, but now he sees the reason why, he advises against morphine and suggests natural remedies as an alternative. He does not charge for the appointment. She brushes up well, but there is a hole at the hem of her dress that has been recently mended; neither her husband nor her lover provide her with much.
"Come back if you still have trouble sleeping," he says, "and I will recommend a midwife."
He scribbles down a name and hands it to her, but something in him knows that she will not return. He cannot tell if it is Holmes's deductions or his own intuition, and concludes that it may be a little of both both. She leaves quietly, but there is a little of her story left in his consulting room now, and he knows from experience it will never fade.