Alone. Empty TARDIS. Well, not really alone. Never really alone. There's always the TARDIS herself, he thought, fingers tracing over some thingy on the control panel.
And of course he would never really be alone. Again, the TARDIS. He could go anywhere he wanted to. Absolutely anywhere. Anytime. But the question really was - "Where do I want to go?" The Doctor mumbled the question to himself, old eyes staring far off into nothing.
He began to slowly stroll around the control panel, his hand ghosting over various bits and bobs as he went along. As he finished his second lap, he turned towards and squared up at the center column, crossing his arms and staring it down, half-squinted eyes seemingly boring through it.
He was going to die soon, this much he knew. He switched on one of the many monitors scattered throughout, and studied a screen he'd become far too familiar with. Lake Silencio, the Silence, the oldest question in the universe. All that jazz. But firstly, he was tired of hearing about it all. And secondly, time was not his boss.
A wry grin that didn't quite make it to his eyes eased itself onto his face, and he began a circular sprinting sequence he'd mastered by now: pulling levers, twisting knobs and switching switches. As he rounded on - and flipped up - the last lever, the grin finally made its way to his eyes, and he lurched in synch with the TARDIS as it began the de-materialization process.
Regaining his bearings, he stood rigid once more, and gently adjusted his bow-tie.
"Geronimo," he barely managed to whisper.