You were riding your bike.
You stopped at a curb to get off of it.
A man walked up to you and pushed you over, causing you to fall.
Your bike fell on top of your leg.
You let out a yelp of pain.
“Hypothesis proven,” the man said.
You tried to sit up, but there was a lot of pain in your leg.
Another man jogged up to you and took the bike off your leg and helped you to stand.
“I am so sorry about him,” the man apologized.
“He a friend of yours?” you asked.
He turned red.
“Afraid so,” he muttered, “I’m John Watson.”
“Y/N Y/L/N,” you said, “Mind helping me to a hospital?”
“Sherlock Holmes. And there is no need for that. John is a doctor,” Sherlock said.
They took you to their flat and sat you on the couch.
John checked your leg and grimaced.
“What is it?” you asked, worriedly.
“It’s broken,” he said.
You groaned.
“Oh that’s just wonderful,” you said sarcastically.
“Yes it is,” Sherlock said.
“That was sarcasm,” John said to him.
“But you helped prove my hypothesis. A bike can break a leg,” he said.
“Actually, it’s an unfair experiment. It depends on the two weights, height of the bike, height of the two people, as well as individual strength, and strength of the push. Your results are invalid,” you pointed out.
Sherlock looked at you, impressed.
“John, marry that girl,” Sherlock said.
John smiled at you and took your hand.
“I just might,” he said.
You woke up, smiling. Your husband, John Watson was laying next to you.
“What were you dreaming about?” he asked, looking over at you.
“The day we first met,” you responded.
He chuckled.
“Well, I did marry you,” he said.
“Yes you did,” you nodded.
“And it was one of the best decisions I have ever made.”
