You got the call at 2:00 in the morning, it was John Watson. He said Sherlock was injured and in the hospital. Apparently the staggeringly smart man had fallen down a flight of stairs.

You rushed outside and got a cab, telling the driver to take you to the hospital. Before you knew it, you were at the hospital.

"Sherlock Holmes?" You asked the receptionist, tapping your finger nervously on the front desk.

"Third floor. Room 25. " She answered, glancing up at you. You nodded and walked over to the lift, now talking your fingers on your thigh. You pushed the 3rd floor button and the lift jerked upward slightly.

When the lift stopped, you walked out. Room 25 was at the end of the hall. The door was closed, but there was talking. You knocked on the door and John opened it.

Sherlock laid in a hospital bed, his leg on a pillow. There was a brace over his knee. He had a bandage wrapped around his head, a small red stain poking through. Surgery had been done to repair a dislocation and tear in his knee. 

"Y/N!" He nearly yelled. "I'm so glad you here! It's so boring!"

You smiled and kissed him on the cheek. "I bet you are bored. You can't shoot the wall here."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and laughed, acting completely human. Probably the drugs, but you were one of the few people who could actually make him smile, let alone laugh. Overall, you knew he would be fine.