THE DOCTOR IN THE MORGUE
I've been wanting to do some sort of thing like this for a while now. I don't even have an accurate summary or blurb to be able to tell you want this is but…I have a feeling it'll end up being a thing one of these days when I'm not working on so much. But I hope you like it. - day
Characters involved: Molly Hooper, Doctor Leonard "Bones" McCoy , Pavel Chekov, and Sherlock Holmes.
P.S. I probably got a few things wrong or something but just go with it. It's harmless fun after all. ;P
XX
Molly Hooper was trying not to laugh or smile outwardly at this strange man who had been declared dead by Anderson of all people. She tried not to make it seem like she didn't like said forensics official but he tended to get things wrong a lot. She had spent several years trying not to call him out on his idiocy when he tried to verbally discredit her as a pathologist and a woman of science.
However, she wasn't one to lie and say that one good thing hadn't come out of it. Doctor Leonard McCoy, or Bones as he said this Captain Kirk or Jim fellow called him. She had his credentials in her hand currently as he had slipped it out of his nicely fitted pants. "As I was saying, Miss…Hooper I need to get out of here. This place gives me the shakes and I don't like that."
"It is a morgue." She smiled at him. "It happens to have that effect on a lot of people. Is there anyone you can contact?" Her eyes furrowed for a moment as she looked at the odd dialect that was on the opposite side of his identification card.
"I'm not sure, entirely. Where am I? I told Jim not to let Chekov mess with those damn pods when he was trying to figure out what had happened to two that had gone missing unexpected. That kid, he's Russian and a genius but…"
He stopped when the door opened and the finely dressed man in a suit and scarf. "Molly, we're going to be late to Mummy's if you don't hurry. Oh, you've got company…a patient? They're usually dead, aren't they?" He mumbled as he made his way over to the slab where the man who was in a strange shirt with an insignia on it, and the black slacks. He's feet are bare.
"You're from out of town."
Bones scoffed at that. "Try out of this world, Mr. Fancy Suit." He rolled his eyes, he trained his eyes back on Molly and got ready to suggest using his communicator when he felt a painful headache coming on. He heard the loud vibrations in his ear and then the Russian genius was talking.
"Oops. Mister Bones where are you? You're off the ship. Sorry, your connection was severed."
"Clearly." Sherlock stated as he too could hear the message though he was standing about three feet away from the man. It was coming from his pocket. It was as small black piece the size of a nickel. Bones didn't remember having that.
"Where am I?" Bones asked, ignoring the frantic gibberish that was coming out of the little speaker that was in his pocket. It was a two way connection so the Russian could hear him, he just wasn't speaking to him at the current time.
"London, England. St. Bartholomew's Hospital. The Morgue specifically. You were brought in a few hours ago after being declared dead. Obviously, the idiots at the crime scene didn't check your pulse."
"Oh, they might have but I've taught myself how to appear dead in life or death situations. It might have been the experiment I was testing the laboratory earlier before my descent to earth again…"
"Hey, Chekov can you find somewhere in London to beam me back up?"
"I will try. One moment, pleaze."
There was the sound of noises and positive noises as the tiny Russian went to work at bringing back his friend. It was his fault after all. "I'm very sorry about that, Doctor. Are you near St. Bart's Hospital? It has a very tall building. You'd need to get to the roov."
"Yeah, I got it. Give me a few mins."
"Yes, yes, I have you on standby."
TBC?