[House's small smirk grows into probably the most genuine smile Clayton's seen on his face, yet. He's impressed because it's a good point. One he and his team had missed.]

You know the problem with getting a bunch of specialists in a room together and not telling them to do something basic? They'll do every test under the sun except the basic ones. We scanned that kid every which way, but it took my intensivist finding drawers filled with Tic-Tacs in the guy's place for me to realize nobody had the bright idea to manually check his jaw after his initial admittance. He was minty fresh, then, and no signs of problems.

Cut to a few days later with multiple mini-strokes, a diagnosis of trauma-induced aneurysm after we found his Domme strangling him in his bed to get him off, a vascular surgery that found no problems or signs of an aneurysm, and every diagnostic test in the alphabet... I finally go down to meet the kid again, and what do you know? Smelled like old vomit in there.

What would you call that, doctor?

[Heart rate is down, other symptoms are abating. He really hates to admit it, but this has been helping him.]