Take three guesses what inspired me to write this.
"Maaarrthhaaa…" His soft, whispering call echoed through the dark, cold, powered-down corridors of the TARDIS. Footsteps were nearly silent, thanks to the flat soles of his Converse (the zigzag threads might have had something to do with it as well).
"Martha Jones…"
Another step closer as he crept along. His telepathy, usually kept dormant out of choice and a desire to experience life the way humans did (it made it more exciting), picked up her mental patterns coming from a room at the end of the hallway—mental patterns that grew stronger as he edged closer.
"I know your secret."
Closer, and he could practically taste her fear.
He stopped just outside the door, smiled to himself—amusement at some private joke.
"I know your friends. …"
Well, some of them, anyway—the members of Torchwood Three, UNIT, her sister Tish and brother Leo.
The temperature dropped by five degrees, would have her breath misting in the cold air. As a Time Lord, he was unaffected.
"I … know… everything."