Twenty first response to Hades' December challenge.
Prompt from Madam'zelleGiry: "Watson falls ill while working overtime at the surgery, but doesn't tell anyone, and continues to get worse."
Holmes and companions do not belong to me.
Hopeless
Duty delayed his return from the surgery,
Three further calls sent him out late last night.
A headache developed, he tried to ignore it,
More patients were waiting, no rest was in sight.
An overfull clinic, an outbreak of fever,
A morning of difficult symptoms ensued.
His head throbbed intensely but people were waiting,
Forms were filled in, and appointments pursued.
~0~
The afternoon passed in a haze of emergencies;
Accidents, crises; he dealt with them all.
He mopped his brow frequently, headache still present,
Another demand for another late call.
So, clinic completed, an hour overrunning,
He picked up his bag, headed out on a case.
He'd not stopped for meals and felt faint and bone-weary
But still had this extra home visit to face.
~0~
Later, Holmes found the exhausted physician
Still wearing his coat, sound asleep in his chair.
He judged from the gaunt and unshaven appearance,
He succeeded with patients, but failed at self-care.
Doctors, he mused, were the worst kind of patients,
Determined to carry on work till the end;
Quite blind to the toll that the workload was taking,
Unwilling to take good advice from a friend.
~0~
Holmes roused his companion, found pills for his headache,
Made sure he had eaten and sent him to bed.
He gave the good doctor no choice in the matter
A locum could take the next clinic instead.
~0~
His comrade he knew, had sound clinical knowledge
And had read every medical book on the shelf;
But despite the great care which he gave to his patients,
He would always be hopeless at healing himself.
~0~