He doesn't need Wilson either, but House duly reports to his office for more lecturing. Not this time, though, as House finds him sitting in a chair with his jaw hanging open. Whoops! Looks like Cameron gave someone an accidental lobotomy! Again! But no, Wilson's slack-jaw is the result of him realizing that he misdiagnosed a patient with terminal cancer. Wow. Wilson has few enough patients as it is, and now it seems that some of them don't even have cancer. One wonders if Wilson is just giving away cancer diagnoses to hot ladies he can sleep with or people who want marijuana prescriptions. This time, though, it appears that Wilson's mistake could have been made by even a competent doctor, as the patient's biopsy came back with a false positive and the patient himself apparently didn't find it necessary to get a second opinion. House pronounces this "interesting," and Wilson gets all upset that House isn't jumping for joy at the random patient he doesn't know's good fortune. Wilson, you don't know House at all depending on who's writing your dialogue from week to week, do you?
Thirteen finds CTB standing outside a men's room, waiting for Jimmy to finish his business so she can run her test. Thirteen and Thirteen's Turtleneck ask CTB why her first inclination was a drug-related diagnosis. With a perfect note of "let me explain this to you, stupid" in her voice, CTB says that if Jimmy was shooting cancer into his veins on a regular basis, she'd have guessed cancer. And Wilson would have approved that diagnosis without bothering to check his work, apparently. "You're an idiot," Thirteen responds. How dare she speak to CTB like that?! But maybe she has a little bit of a point, as she points out that CTB just left a chain smoker and an oxygen tank unattended. This is punctuated by a muffled blast. If only Thirteen had gone in there to stop Jimmy from lighting up instead of talking about it, she could have saved him from blowing himself up. Since she didn't, the ladies run in to find Jimmy still alive but all smokey, looking not unlike when Daffy Duck would accidentally make dynamite explode in his face.
Wilson is just about to tell his no-longer-terminal patient that it's not really cancer when House runs in, wearing a white labcoat for added fake professionalism. I wonder which doctor he stole that from. House takes a seat on the counter behind Wilson to observe as Wilson tells No More Cancer that he's cancer-free. "I don't get it," No More Cancer says. "Cool," House says. Not so cool for No More Cancer, who just sold his house, bought tickets to Venice, and has had three good-bye parties in his honor that I'm sure were just a ton of fun for all attendees. Those things are sad enough when they're for someone who's moving far away; can you imagine one for someone who is dying of cancer? Super-bummer. Just tell the guy you can't go because you're also dying of terminal cancer and then figure he'll die before you have to tell him the truth. And honestly, isn't it just a bit excessive to have three good-bye parties? One, sure. Two, maybe if a lot of people weren't able to attend the first one for whatever reason. But three? That's just begging for attention. Now that No More Cancer has more than three months to live, he's kind of screwed. He's going to have to pay his broker commission on a house he doesn't have to sell anymore and he'll have to return all those good-bye party gifts, although those gifts were probably stuff he won't be able to use anymore anyway, like coffin accoutrements and DIY death mask kits. "Thank you for letting me know," No More Cancer says, not looking very grateful at all. He leaves, and Wilson says he thought the guy would be happier to live than he would be sad about losing the broker commission. "It's not about the money," House says. I guess No More Cancer guy just really hates the principle of broker fees. Also, life.