Smoke curled its way round the rooftops, a serpentine veil shrouding the city in a singular darkness. Were it not for the admittedly few street lamps it would have been entirely impossible to see. On nights like these, nights that were quite noticeably becoming something of a regular occurrence, it was very easy to lose ones way in the winding streets and alleyways, each cobbled street barely distinguishable from the last. Only a fool would attempt to navigate them on such a night by running. Only a fool, or someone with something to run from. Of course, it is worth pointing out that everyone ends up running at some point, none more so than the weary traveller who had just arrived. He had been here before, on several occasions in the past, but never like this, never with such anger and regret. Having wandered the stars for a thousand years, he had many regrets, but none ached quite like this. He had witnessed millions of lives be extinguished, a great many by his own hand, he had loved and lost countless times. It had happened again, despite his best efforts, he was unable to undo what had been done. His time with the Ponds was precious to him, as was his time with all of his "companions," but no matter what; they always seemed to slip away too soon.
He gritted his teeth as he stepped out of the box, the ever-present blue box, wherever he went, the box would be there too. The lonely man wandered the deserted street before stopping in front a towering building, arguably blacker than the clouds that currently swallowed the sky. The sign that hung above the door was impossible to make out, its words lost against the blackness of the night, but he knew this was the place. He took one last glance around the empty street before entering. Upon doing so he was greeted by a man, whose red face was partially hidden behind a giant moustache. "I trust your name is on the guest list?" he asked with more than a hint of snobbery.
"I should expect so, I'm always on the list, should be under the name john smith," he spoke quickly, his eyes darting about the poorly lit room, searching for her, the veiled woman.
"There is no john smith on the list sir, I'm afraid I shall have to ask you to leave."
"WHAT!?" the moustached man now had his full attention, "what do you mean I'm not on the list I am always on the list! Check under doctor!."
"Doctor who sir? " replied the ruddy faced gentleman, his patience clearly running out where this bizarre young man was concerned.
"The doctor, just the doctor, that's my name: The Doctor"
"We have a great deal of doctors who visit this establishment, you sir, are clearly not one of them, good day."
The man began attempting to force the doctor out of the door, when a voice came from the back of the room.
"Now now Mr Brewer, surely this is not how you treat your guests?"
"Madam this man's name is NOT on the guest list"
"Perhaps not, but mine is, and if my memory serves me right, guests are permitted a "plus - one"
The man who had been identified as Mr Brewer let go of The Doctor, mumbled something under his breath and proceeded to storm out of the room. The doctor straightened his bowtie, he and the veiled woman where now alone. "You have returned far sooner than I had anticipated, has something happened?" She asked.
"No," he replied, a deep frown fell across his face, "nothing ever happens anymore, as well you know."
"Of course, and professor song, Is she…"
"Fine, she's fine, for now, not that it matters in the end" he cut in, signalling that he had no desire to talk of what he had lost and had yet to lose. He walked slowly towards the veiled figure, his cold eyes giving her his full attention. As he drew closer she lifted the veil, beneath it her face, revealed in the flickering candlelight, made up an intricate formation of green scales. "Is there a reason we are meeting here, and not at your home….Madam Vastra?"
"Now what would make you say that?" she purred
"Oh there has to be a reason, there always is a reason, and this is miles away from your home so!," he spun around to face her, "what is the reason?."
She paused for a moment before speaking, carefully considering her words, "In spite of your assertion that nothing happens anymore, it has become apparent that something is indeed happening, right here in London."
"And what do you expect me to do about it? Help? Rush in a fix everything, just like the old days? No, those days are gone, my time solving the universe's problems is over."
"So you are saying you are prepared to allow the universe to fall to pieces and not lift a finger to help, I find that very hard to believe," her stare was so intense that the doctor could feel her eyes bearing into him.
"Why don't you investigate, isn't that what you do now? You, jenny and the potato?."
"Who am I speaking to, this man before me is not the doctor I know, the doctor I know would never so willingly put his friends in harm's way."
"Aaaarggh, but don't you see, it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter what I do, people always die, good people, I can never save them all…I couldn't even save THEM!."
His voice crackled as his spoke; in that moment it was as if all the pain of all he had lost was etched into his very skin. They remained silent for several minutes, then finally the doctor turned towards the door, as he stepped outside he looked up at the blackened sky and sighed.
"Goodbye," he said with a tip of his hat and then he was gone.
Mr Brewer shuffled back into the room, "He has taken his leave then I assume?," he said, barley masking his contempt.
"It would appear so, I must work quickly…for if I should fail, we may all be well beyond saving," As she spoke, it seemed the urgency of her task was pulling her out into the night, propelling her on her way, she pulled down her veil and as she stepped through the doorway, she knew her most important mission of all had begun. In order to save the world, she must first save the doctor.

xXx

Clara awoke suddenly, bolting upright. A chill hung in the air, there was something niggling in the back of her mind, something important that should could not put her finger on. She knew she had been dreaming, that was what had caused her to wake so suddenly, yet she could not fully recall the dream, save for one small detail. Blue. What was so special about the colour blue?. She gazed out of the window, though she could see nothing, she felt a sensation of unease and anticipation drift over her as she did. Morning was closing in fast, it was Sunday the 18th of December 1892, and Clara Oswin Oswald was currently unaware that her life was to be changed dramatically over the course of the next week, nor did she know that it would be her last. She pulled the covers tight and closed her eyes in an attempt to sneak a few more hours of sleep before the morning and as her consciousness slipped away she began to dream, and as she dreamt she began to fall, down and down, through a never ending tunnel of light, she could hear voices, voices she had never in her life heard before, and yet, so familiar to her. As she continued spin round and round in this unknown vortex a face began to appear before her eyes, and though she had never seen this man before, she felt a sudden rush of nostalgic emotion, she felt a single tear drip softly over her cheek. She had no idea why she was crying, she had never seen this man before, she did not know him, it was just a dream. And yet she felt as if she did indeed know the man. Then the face of the man she did not know looked her straight in the eyes and spoke a single word. A word that sent a chill through her body. A word she had not expected to be said. That word was… "Clara."
She awoke once again, by now the shadow of the night had given way to the day; the sunlight crawled through Clara's window. She ran the dream through over and over in her head, what did it mean?. Why had her dream seemed so real, why was she dreaming of a man she had never met and how did he know her name. Who was the mysterious man with the peculiar chin?.