Extra weekly chapter because last Sunday I couldn't publish a chapter.

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If before, during the day, people tried and fail not to be too obvious when they saw me and talked about me, what remained of the school day was practically torture. Wherever I looked, many of my classmates, now completely shameless, pointed at me and discussed me. Even during class, I could sense a hint of interest in some of the looks the teachers gave me.

Enduring and trying to ignore the vast majority of my classmates' attention, the school day ended. After saying goodbye to my friends, passing through the gazes of the people I encountered, I quickly walked to 'Debbie,' almost immediately leaving the school grounds.

As the day before, I arrived much earlier than Mom at the hospital since her car wasn't parked in its usual spot again. After greeting Mom's fellow nurses, I walked to House's office, where only he was, leaning back in his chair, reading a Cosmopolitan magazine with a woman in a swimsuit on the cover, totally calm and shameless.

"How are the babies?" I asked first upon entering the office.

"Safe and sound," House replied disinterestedly, not taking his attention off his magazine. "Oh, you're upset," sarcastically remarked House, finally tearing his attention away from the magazine he still held in his hands. "Something tell me I'd be fifty dollars richer," leaving the magazine on his desk, House leaned forward, narrowing his eyes with a strange smile.

Annoyed, I took a fifty-dollar bill from my wallet before handing it over to the now smiling man, who intensely began inspecting the bill, even sniffing it.

"How did you know?" trying not to show embarrassment about the bet, I asked.

"Oh," abruptly stopping inspecting the bill, House falsely exclaimed, "your expression when you saw me. There were two possibilities: someone told you something that may or may not be true about your mother and me in one of the closets," sarcastically House quickly said, "or you were upset because you lost a bet with me." He continued speaking with obviousness, "It was fifty-fifty," he said amusingly, balancing his hands.

"That's not it," I said exasperatedly. "How did you know what Regina was going to do?" I asked curtly.

"Who?" with exaggerated interest, House asked.

"My girlfriend," I said, "ex-girlfriend," I immediately corrected myself.

"Oh, the beautiful cheerleader," House said amusedly, leaning back in his chair again. "I'll tell you, but it comes with a price," sarcastically, House continued, shaking the bill in his hand as he propped his feet on the desk in front of him.

"Alright, don't tell me," leaving my backpack on one of the free hooks next to the bookcase, I said before trying to leave the doctor's office to go to the library.

"Tell me how it happened, and I'll tell you how I knew," before I could reach the office door, House said.

"What?" I asked, not understanding.

"How it happened, you know, she yelled at you in a classroom, or outside of school when everyone was leaving, how did it happen?" amusedly House asked.

Standing in front of the man, in my head, I quickly weighed the pros and cons of actually telling him how things happened. Everyone at school knew, and that made people see me as if I were an animal in the zoo. If I told House, I would only give him bullets to embarrass me even outside of school.

"Okay," ignoring the obvious problems this could cause me in the future, I took a seat on the other side of the man, summarizing the situation.

"Ah, a public execution," finishing my account, House exclaimed amusedly, "my favorite show."

"Yes, yes, now tell me," trying to abruptly cut his amusement, I exclaimed.

"You really have no idea, it's even sad," studying my expression, House said, "how can I put it so you understand?" looking at the ceiling of his office, House pretended to think for a few seconds, "ah, I know," he said, getting up and walking to his board, dragging it to the center of the office.

"Differential diagnosis," writing as he spoke, House pointed to the phrase, "what do we do when we try to diagnose a patient?" House asked.

"Write down their symptoms and treat them," not understanding where the conversation was going, I said.

"That's what doctors do," contemptuously, House said, "you and I seek a relationship beyond the symptoms and the patient," House said, writing more things on the board that, because he was in the middle, I couldn't see. "Don't flatter yourself and think I'm praising you. You still have a long way to go if you want to be at least half as good as me," without turning, House said mockingly.

"Oh no, how could I even think of being as good at diagnosing as the incredible Dr. House," with exaggerated sarcasm, I exclaimed, "I'm glad you understand," House quickly retorted.

"Have I ever taught you what you should do to diagnose someone in the clinic without reading their file?" House turned to me, narrowing one of his eyes.

"Observe," I said, remembering what he had shown me many days ago, as well as the little notebook I still carried with me.

"Exactly," with fake excitement, House exclaimed, pointing at me, "what you did with that little notebook, which I hope you still use, was an exercise for you to practice unconsciously observing a patient," House explained calmly, "what magazine was I reading?" he suddenly asked.

"Cosmopolitan," I replied without a problem, "but anyone could have seen that," I countered his point.

"Oh yes, anyone could have seen the magazine, but not observed it," sinisterly, House said, "what color was the bikini?" he asked again, smiling suggestively.

"Black," somewhat embarrassed by the nature of the question, I replied.

"Very few people would have remembered actually observing that detail," seriously, House said as he nodded, "although you're a hormonal teenager, so it might just be of great interest to you," the man added ironically, "so tell me, did the model wear a bracelet, and on which hand?" House asked again, this time much more serious, leaning on his cane.

"Right hand," surprised by the question and especially by how I actually knew it, I took a few seconds to respond.

Certainly, striving to consciously observe people had made me start to unconsciously observe them at some point. But even if I were developing a useful skill for diagnosing patients much more effectively, I didn't understand the connection with his ability to guess Regina's actions.

"I don't understand what this has to do with—" I was saying, "speak only when I tell you, we're almost there," House rudely interrupted.

"So, the first step in diagnosing is observing," House listed, "during the observation process, you gather data. The patient's nose is irritated, one of their pupils is dilated, they limp on one of their legs, they have a weak grip with their dominant hand, blah blah blah," House continued with disdain.

"The first rule is that you really can't know anything if you only remember isolated data and try to use it," House asserted, "if the data don't relate to a diagnosis, you have no way to use them, right?" he asked arrogantly.

"But to use this data in a real diagnosis, you need to have prior medical knowledge, which for now you strangely have," ironically, House continued, "unlike your embarrassingly lack of social knowledge. Do you have any friends to hang out with after school?" mocking, House added.

"Okay, House, thanks for the lecture. If it was just luck, you could have said it," tired of his continuous insults, I said.

"You know how to diagnose boring diseases, flu, human parasites that people call babies, infections, and a bunch of other things. I've taught you, and I've seen you do it," raising his hand to silence me, House said, "but your incredibly poor social skills don't allow you to diagnose the most fun of all, at least not consciously," exaggerating mystery in his words, House continued.

"The Lie," after a few seconds that House surely used to create a suspenseful atmosphere, the limping doctor said, moving away from the front of the board to reveal various words.

"Yes, yes, everybody lies," annoyed by the sarcastic man's games, I cut him off.

"That's a great motto. Who taught you that?" House said sarcastically. "whoever the mastermind was who said that was right. Everybody lies, but very few of us know how to diagnose a lie," obviously amused by the idea of giving a lecture, House continued speaking.

"Lies, like any other diseases, have types. There are many, but for today's class, we'll only be interested in the following," pointing to the board, House said, "blatant, exaggeration, omission, and utilitarian," emphasizing the last one.

"Your cheerleader put on quite a show of a utilitarian lie," the man affirmed, amused, "but we're not there yet."

"Like any disease, with lies, there are symptoms one observes when diagnosing," House calmly said. "There are the easy ones to observe: body language, whether their posture is open or closed, defensive or relaxed, eye contact, involuntary tics while speaking," House continued, writing in another section of the board.

"Incredible analogy, House, but you never met Regina yourself," I stopped the man sharply.

"And that's why I said those were the easy ones," smiling sinisterly, House said, "the difficult ones are things you observe when they're not aware, things you confirmed to me. People's behavior in her presence, the way they interact with her inner circle, simple things like where they choose to sit give you so much data you can use."

"You confirmed to me that she's popular, therefore many people in your school are aware of her when she walks the school halls with at least two companions always by her side, she sits at the central table in the cafeteria, and she's a cheerleader, so her main job is to attract attention," House affirmed. "With all that data, I can, and then you can, diagnose a typical case of attention-seeking behavior."

"And what if you're wrong?" I asked abruptly. "Also, how can you tell if it's a lie?"

"Didn't you hear what I told Cameron yesterday?" irritated, House said, "we stick with our diagnoses until something makes us change our minds," House repeated. "And knowing if it's a lie or not, simply common sense," he said obviously.

"Now, all these types of lies have some common symptoms," House continued, returning to the topic. "They want to divert your attention from what they're seeking. A blatant liar says something that is completely different from the truth. Yesterday's patient, the woman with the human parasite, she's going to blatantly lie to her husband about her pregnancy," he exemplified.

"Like you," pointing to the man, I affirmed.

"Oh no, like your cheerleader, I give utilitarian lies," with total lack of shame, House said, "but that's not the next one," lightly tapping the board, House added, "lies by exaggeration are when facts are exaggerated or minimized, for example when your mom tells you that you look handsome."

"Or like when Dr. Wilson says you're not a bad person altogether," I said.

"Wilson says that?" falsely offended, House asked, "I need to talk to him."

"The next one is the lie by omission," pointing to the next one on the board, House said, "it's the most common one we face. They give you the truth, but not the whole truth," House continued, "for example, the idiots who thought it prudent not to tell us their son was adopted."

After finishing, House looked at me puzzled for a few seconds. "No witty comment for this one?" he asked.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't think of one," I said, making House nod.

"Lastly, in this class," straightening his back and exaggerating his tone, House continued, "utilitarians lie to take advantage of situations, purely selfish reasons," House said shamelessly, adding, "shedding fake tears when a large part of the student population is present and screaming to confirm what's happening, that, kid, is the definition of a utilitarian liar with attention-seeking behavior."

Everything House had said hit me with a heavy dose of reality. Seeing lying as a disease that can be diagnosed was something only House would do. I recognize my own ability for diagnosing patients, I practiced hundreds of hours in my past life and possibly also in this one without realizing it, it's something I now do unconsciously.

"So, what am I supposed to do?" after completely absorbing everything House said, I asked.

"I'm not your father to tell you what to do," sarcastically, House said, taking the eraser to clean the words on the board.

"No, but you yourself said that lies are a disease, there must be a treatment," playing with his analogy, I said.

Sighing, House walked back to his chair after putting the board back in place, "what do you want me to tell you, something poetic like the only treatment is the truth?" he asked ironically, "I enjoy hitting idiots in the face with the truth. You do whatever you want," opening one of his drawers, House pulled out another small notebook identical to the one he had given me before, "you know what this is for," he continued, dropping the small notebook on the desk, "now go, I have a date with Aline," opening his magazine again, House said, putting his feet back on the desk.

Amused by the man's action I took the notebook from the desk before leaving the man's office, I walked to the hospital library to learn with the videos many more interesting surgical procedures.

"Duncan!" halfway to the library in one of the corridors, my name was suddenly shouted, "Mr. Stratford," turning to discover who called me, I found the man surprisingly not looking upset. This time he seemed embarrassed.

"PJ," when he was close enough, much kinder than I remembered any interaction with him, he said, "I wanted to talk to you," adding to my theory of his embarrassment, the man seemed unable to maintain eye contact with me. Feeling the small notebook that House had given me, I thought, why not start now.

Keeping silent to allow the man to speak, I waited a few short seconds before apparently Mr. Stratford gathered courage. "I wanted to apologize to you," this time managing to maintain eye contact, the man said without hesitation, completely facing me.

"It wasn't fair how I treated you before. It's just that Dr. Cuddy talked to all of us about your presence in House's department, and I thought you would be like him..." the man continued with difficulty describing House.

"Arrogant and rude," I said.

"Yes, arrogant, rude, unpleasant, annoying," the man became increasingly angry as he listed, "but I had the chance to talk to the nurse from the maternity ward," seeing my expression, the man controlled himself before saying.

"Brenda," I reminded the doctor of the woman's name, "yes, Brenda, and she only had good things to say about you, like many other nurses. So when I got home, I discreetly asked Kat about you, and she holds you in high esteem as a good friend," the man continued.

"Yes, and I do too. Kat and I are just good friends," I clarified to the man.

"That's why I wanted to apologize to you," formally raising his hand, the man asked for a handshake that I gladly accepted, "don't worry, Mr. Stratford, I understand where your concern came from. House is not a very good person."

"No, he's not," Mr. Stratford agreed, "but unfortunately, he's a good doctor, and as long as you only learn medicine from him, it will be useful for your future," looking around before saying anything else, Mr. Stratford admitted.

"Yeah," I said in agreement.

"By the way, I heard you managed to solve the case of the babies. It was a great discovery about the stuffed animals," kindly, Mr. Stratford said, "how did you figure it out?" he asked, interested.

"Observing," I responded after a few seconds.

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Author's Thoughts:

As always, I'm not American, I'm not a doctor, and I'm not Sherlock Holmes.

One of my favorite literary characters is Sherlock Holmes, a character that House was obviously based on. Searching for information about this a long time ago, I came across an article from a university where they explained the theoretical process that Holmes uses for deduction. This chapter is my attempt to describe what I remember from that article (I don't remember the title, but it had something to do with what our brain ignores and what Holmes theoretically does not).

Perhaps someone might find it surprising the idea of House explaining everything he did and giving small compliments to the MC, but it's an AU of a fanfiction; to begin with, and House in my story, as many may have already noticed due to the obviousness of the matter, serves as a mentor figure for the MC, so I'll use it.

I also must say that everything about lies was taken from my imagination; it seemed like an ad hoc analogy with House.

With that said,

I think that's all. As always, if you find any errors, please let me know, and I'll correct them immediately.

Thank you for reading! :D

PS: PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW.