I'd been a bit puzzled about that last statement, but when he began to slowly detail the events of his abduction and imprisonment, I could see why he would rather Mr. Holmes not be present. The man would have been a holy terror if he'd heard everything, and the Doctor obviously knew that.
Though I was glad to get the formalities completed, after an hour of cross-examining I could see the Doctor's strength was flagging dramatically. He was pale as the bandage 'round his head and looking utterly exhausted; no doubt the effort of recollection was rather painful.
"I'm sorry, Doctor," I apologised, "nearly done now. Can I get you anything?"
"No," he whispered faintly, rubbing his eyes. "I'll be fine, Lestrade…pray continue."
I wrapped up as quickly as possible, conferring with Cummings to ensure we had all the evidence. "I think we're finished, Doctor," I reported at last.
He nodded, turning his head away as he coughed. "Good," he breathed in relief. "If that's all, gentlemen, then I believe I should get some rest."
That he was admitting it (and that he without a protest accepted my help settling him back down) showed his condition more clearly than Mr. Holmes's near-panicked franticness had done.
He was asleep before Cummings had turned down the gas and I'd pulled up the blanket.