Save for the sounds of birds in the trees and the distant roar of traffic from the motorway, the cemetery stands in silence. With the bright sun shining down and the lush, verdant grass waving ever so slightly in a gentle breeze, one could almost feel happy and at peace, were it not for the rows of gravestones, unavoidable in their grim starkness, reminding all of mortality's eternal vigilance.
The next sound in the cemetery is not unfamiliar to this planet, or to a great many others in the universe, as the large blue box coalesces amid a small group of trees. The noise fades, and the door opens. The Doctor, a bunch of flowers grasped in one hand, strides across the ground, his facial expression unreadable. He knows and accepts what he has to do here today.
At last, the sole surviving member of the Time Lords of Gallifrey stops before his destination, one particular gravestone of beautiful, polished white marble. He does not speak, only takes in the name carved in gold across the whiteness. The Doctor looks, and he feels sad. There is anger too. Anger towards himself, mostly. Over what he did, what he said of her, all because of one mistake out of a life of goodness and compassion. She had meant no evil; she was only human. He knows he should have forgiven her, but his fury had blinded him. And so he had condemned her, and turned his back on her. That was the last time he had spoken to her, and that is what makes him angry now. He silently curses his arrogance, before kneeling down and tenderly laying the flowers on the grave. And he speaks then, saying words he wishes she could hear.
"Harriet Jones...you were a damn great woman. I'll miss you."
The sun is warm and the birds sing, but right now, the Doctor does not care.