The Doctor's fob watch is stolen from him, taking himself with it -his memories, his TARDIS, his identity, even his feelings for Rose. Suddenly it's a race to see who can find the watch first, with Doctor's enemies and so-called friends alike searching...and in the midst of it all, a tall, thin man aimlessly roams the streets of London. Rose/10, Jack/everyone, etc...
This one's a bit different, so bear with me!
There'll be a lot of characters on this (mostly from the new series). Maybe Doctors besides 10, actually. Tell me who you want to see included and I'll do my best.
My name is John Smith.
That was the first thing the man thought as he opened his eyes to the sky.
The second thing that he thought was that he was lying down...in a trash heap.
Odd. And a bit...undignified.
Why couldn't he remember anything?
His memories were blank...ish...but there were faces in his head, just flashes -a strange metal stick in his hand that made a whrrring sound when he used it, a police box, a blonde girl -
Mind you, a very pretty blonde girl.
Though he had absolutely no idea why the two former were in his memory (maybe he was some sort of hardwired criminal?) he suspected that the blonde girl was definitely important. No name surfaced with the picture, though.
Bad Wolf. My Thief, you're lost...
It was almost as if the thought in his head wasn't his own. Like something had projected the thought into his mind. But no -that would be impossible.
Shaking his head and groaning, he shifting his shoulder a bit, trying to push himself out of the smelly heap. He was wearing a suit -a very tight, pinstripe grey suit, and his shoes were -
"Ow!"
Pain flared in his arm, and he looked down to see that he'd re-opened a large wound. It was fresh, maybe a day or two old...but he wasn't a doctor, he wouldn't know for sure...
Doctor, doctor, doctor...
The word echoed in his mind.
Unless he was a doctor. You never know when you've got amnesia. Unpredictable, but this watch will keep me safe.
Was that a thought or a memory?
He was carrying no phone -but his his pockets were full of -
Bloody hell-?
His pockets were full of everything, it seemed. He reached a hand in to his left one and his fingers immediately connected with something wet and squishy that made him recoil in shock. Hesitantly, he put his hand into his pocket again and began to pull things out, laying them on the cobbles in the alley.
An orange plush hedgehog, a banana, rectangle glasses (he liked these, and put them on), a strange gizmo that went ding, a bird's nest (why?), a large-headed hammer, a key, a stethoscope, a flat-headed screwdriver, 3D glasses, a severed tentacle of something with suckers (that had been the wet and squishy item) and a tie. And that was just the left pocket.
Almost afraid now, he reached his hand into the right one.
The right pocket only held only two items; a strange metal stick -the strange metal stick, the one that whrrred -and a pad of paper that read in large letters, BAD WOLF.
He blinked. The letters were gone, replaced by new letters.
DON'T BLINK.
What?
Shrugging, he put the paper back in his pocket. All right, so I escaped from a mental asylum. It would make sense...though I don't know where I've gotten the items from...
His arm still hurt.
I've got to get that looked at, I really do...
He was bound to find a hospital or phone or directory if he walked far enough, right?
Clutching his arm tightly and wincing, John Smith limped out of the alley.
THE ROYAL HOPE HOSPITAL, the sign proclaimed in large letters. Good enough for him.
He checked in and was immediately sent to the emergency room (really, it was too much fuss for a small scratch that twinged a bit when he moved it). That's hospitals for you, I suppose.
"My chest hurts a bit too," he'd told a nurse. "And my leg, a bit -you suppose I could get that looked at, too?"
He was being whiny, he knew, but just in case he keeled over from a heart attack -after all, he didn't know what'd happened to him or who he was, and it didn't hurt to make sure he didn't have some severe heart condition or anything.
A crowd of trainees was gathered around his bed.
"All right, Miss Jones..." the lead doctor began. "Can you tell me what's wrong with him?"
Jones nodded, pulling out her stethoscope hesitantly. No, check the papers first! John urged the girl in his head, but he knew that if he said anything she wouldn't get any credit.
And who was he to talk, anyhow? She had more experience than he did.
Jones put the stethoscope to his chest, and frowned.
"Are you having trouble locating the heart, Miss Jones?"
Jones didn't respond for several seconds, just kept frowning and looking utterly bemused.
She pulled back. "Um...I don't -"
"You forgot to check her papers," Jones's superior told her. "His medical papers." He indicated John. "In fact, there isn't just one thing wrong with him -he's got amnesia, a cut arm -probably by a nail, so we should give him a Tetanus shot. Also, his ankle is sprained, but it's on the tail end -should be right in a few days with the proper care."
"And what about my chest?" John asked, indicating himself. "Something's wrong with it."
The guy looked a little taken aback that the patient was engaged in the conversation. "That's what Martha Jones is going to tell us."
Everyone looked at Martha Jones. There was a long, tense pause.
"I...I really don't know," she confessed weakly. "I'm sorry, Hobbes."
Hobbes scoffed, taking the stethoscope from her and pressing it to his chest. "It's not that hard, Martha! Just listen..."
His voice trailed off and he, too frowned. "...Though we might need a more detailed reading...heart reading..." he finished uncertainly, frantically moving the stethoscope around as if listening for something that should be there -or shouldn't have been there.
He lifted the stethoscope off of John's chest and ushered the group away, casting a confused glance at the Doctor as he did so.
What is wrong with my heart?
"You're an alien!" Hobbes accused, pointing his finger at John. "I knew there was something off about you!"
John sat up quickly in his bed as the man burst into the room, shouting accusations. "I'm a what?"
"Oh, don't play dumb, Martian! I know! Is this your plan? Infiltrate a hospital? Well, I caught you! This hospital will have no aliens here! It -"
"Hang on -"
"...Protected! Go back to where you -"
"No, no, you've got it wrong -"
The accusations continued, and a crowd was growing by the door. John swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up shakily. Hobbes moved back.
"Get back," he warned. "Or...I'll throw you out the window!"
"Doctor Hobbes, what -" Another trainee had stepped forward, looking at John curiously. "Why do you think this man is an alien?"
"Two hearts!" Hobbes's voice was triumphant as he held up a paper and displayed it to the crowd. When John caught sight of the paper, he froze. It was a picture of his own chest, from the cartiotocography -and something definitely was wrong with the picture.
"All right, all right -I'm sorry! I -" John might as well have been mute for all the good his words did him.
"Get OUT!"
So that's who I am, John thought numbly. A man from outer space.
Apologizing, he pushed his way through the crowd into the hallway (though he didn't really need to push; it parted easily). The trainee from before, Martha Jones, was looking at him curiously, but she didn't say anything as he pushed open the fire escape. He could feel every eye in the hallway on his retreating back.
After the door closed behind him with a deafening bang, he was left in silence, hurrying down the stairs as he struggled to hold everything together. Absently, he pulled his metal whirry stick thing (I've got to think up a better name for it) from his pocket, and began to toss it. Up, down, up, down.
So, I'm an alien.
The thought didn't freak him out as much as he would have thought; because technically, to him, that would mean that everyone else were aliens. The humans.
Then why do I look human?
He couldn't answer his own question.
I don't look human on the inside. Got two hearts, that's different.
He got to the bottom of the stairs and pushed the door open into the day and the noise.
Sirens blared.
Oh, no... he thought desperately as he peered around the corner of the building. The police are here for me.
Though they didn't look like police. They had big black vans with the letters U.N.I.T. painted on the side.
Whoever they were, it was probably safer to stay out of their way.
For the second time that day, John Smith entered an alleyway.
I'm being watched.
It was a feeling on the back of his neck more than anything else; an eighth sense, if you will.
Eighth sense? Is that normal?
He didn't turn around; didn't give any indication that he knew he was being watched, but both parties knew that the other knew.
John quickened his pace.
Yes. There.
Behind him, he could hear footsteps for a second, out of tune, and then switching to match his own speed so as not to be detected.
He broke into a run.
His follower broke all pretense of stealth now. It was a game of cat and mouse, through the winding alleyways of London. He glanced back once, and caught a flash black, but then he was forced to look back on his path as he jumped over a dustbin.
"STOP!"
It was the other man.
Click.
John froze, and slowly turned around.
Blue eyes, dark hair and coat, handsomely chiseled face. And the gun, pointed right at him.
"I know you," John realised. "How do I know you?"
"Sorry about that," Handsome apologised, lowering the weapon. "I know how you feel about guns -I had to get you to stop and listen."
John was silent, still watching warily as the gun was placed in the belt.
"Do you really not remember me?" The man asked sadly. "We were friends, you and I. And Rose."
Roseroseroseroserose...
"I don't remember you."
But I do, somewhere.
"You're the Doctor," the man informed him. "That's what you call yourself. You're not human."
"Yeah, I figured," John responded dryly, but inside his mind was racing. "What am I, then? Where am I from?"
"Come to Torchwood," the man urged. "We'll help you. Everything you need. Promise, and you can get your memories back -"
"What's your name?" John...the Doctor...interrupted instead. "Before I come with you, I want to know your name."
The man paused for a moment.
"I'm Jack Harkness."
Jackdeadbadwolfalivestayawaybadbadbadbadbadbad...
The Doctor ran.
No idea if this has been done before. With a gazillion DW fanfics on the internet, it probably has, but I just hope this is a bit different...I'm continuing if I get 5 plus reviews on this story (otherwise I get discouraged). So review!
whenithitsthefan