Welcome to the new story! :) I hope you'll have a wonderful time reading the first chapter. Enjoy!
John Smith had had a tiring day. The hospital had been busier than usual today with several people being brought into the emergency room after a serious accident in the M25. Most of the patients only suffered mild injuries but a young girl no older than nine years old was brought in, barely alive with a piece of rod stuck in her chest, just below her heart.
The operation proved to be tricky and difficult, but John managed to pull through and save the girl, despite facing complication after complication. The girl would live to see another day. That was all that mattered. The girl was alive, and he would call it a good day despite wanting to just run away to someplace quiet for a week or two. That would be nice.
Life as a surgeon, however, does not grant him such luxury. Maybe he really should just seriously consider becoming a consultant surgeon. At least the workload will be reduced a bit.
John looked up and noticed that the sky had become darker. It would seem rain is imminent. He picked up his pace as rain started pouring down from above, washing the streets of London.
Why on earth did he decide to take the tube today instead of driving like he normally would? Maybe he was just getting tired of the same old routine.
He was lost in his thought until his left foot kicked a heavy object that was lying on the ground. John looked down at his own two feet before he spotted a black note and instantly reached for it so that it wouldn't get wet.
The surgeon took shelter underneath a tree before he opened the notebook and landed in the middle of the book. He squinted his eyes. Time machine, 'Daleks', 'Cyberman', the Doctor finds himself in Skaro… It all sounded like a sci-fi novel.
It was then John reminded the contents of the notebook was none of his business and immediately checked the front page to see if the owner had left their details.
Luckily, they did. It looks like a Clara Oswald is writing a sci-fi novel.
John reached down into his pocket to fish out his phone before dialling the number scribbled on the page. It took several seconds before the call was answered.
"Is this Clara Oswald?" John said through the phone, taking shelter underneath a different tree. It had started raining heavily and he regretted not bringing an umbrella with him. The notebook which he hid in the pocket of his jacket to protect from the rain was now in his hand again as he checked the name and number once more.
"Yes," answered Clara on the other end of the line. "Is this about my notebook – did you find it?"
"Yeah, found it by the side of the street," he answered. "Do you live close by – I found your notebook in Shoreditch."
"I live in Shoreditch," she replied. "Where are you?"
John looked around and said, "Bevenden Street."
"I live just ten minutes away – I'll be there soon," she said.
He interrupted her before she could end the call. "No, it's raining – if I stay here any longer I'll be soaking wet – where do you live?" he asked, wiping his face dry of the rainwater. His hair felt damp.
Clara gave him the address and he quickly made his way there.
John Smith would have preferred to be home by now, kicking his feet up and enjoying a nice, hot cup of tea, but he couldn't just leave the notebook by the side of the street nor bring it with him home when the owner lives close by.
He finally found the building he was looking for and spotted a beautiful woman with brown hair and large eyes scanning around the area as she stood by the entrance of the building. That must be Clara.
He walked past the gates, dripping wet before she finally spotted him. A guilty and sheepish look was plastered on her face.
"Clara Oswald?" John asked.
"Yep, that would be me," she replied, smiling kindly at him as they stepped into the reception area.
He then produced the notebook from his coat and handed it to her. "You're lucky I found this before it started raining."
"Thank you so much," she said sincerely, holding the notebook close to her chest. She scanned him from head to toe. He was staring at her intently with those bushy eyebrows of his and could have sworn they had a life of their own. Nonetheless, she could see the kindness behind those blue eyes. "I'm sorry you had to go through the trouble of finding me and getting yourself drenched."
He shrugged, about to take his leave when Clara said, "Just wait here one second and I'll get you your reward."
John raised his eyebrows. "That won't be necessary," he explained. "I didn't do it for the reward."
She had been pondering whether she should invite him to her flat and offer him a cup of tea. After all, this man had saved her life's work and it was the least she could do. Besides, he doesn't look like a serial killer. "Could I at least offer you tea?" she asked. "It's still raining outside."
The surgeon thought of his options for a moment. He was cold and wet. He didn't feel like walking the in rain again.
Clara saw the hesitation in his eyes. "It's the least I could do," she reasoned and smiled when she saw the resignation in his eyes.
"Alright," he sighed. "I'm not keen on getting my suit wet."
John followed Clara up the staircase to her flat which was located in the corner of the hallway. Her flat was quite cramped, but he could see that she had made the best of her space and the flat even had a cosy vibe to it.
"Make yourself at home," she said, disappearing into the kitchen while John discarded his coat and hung it on the hanger.
A small bookshelf rested against the wall, next to where the sofa and armchair were located. In middle sat the coffee table which had a stack of papers lying on top. No doubt that Clara is an author.
He approached the sofa and settled down before taking a closer look at the papers. The top pile said 'Year 8 English, Class 8A'.
Or maybe she wasn't an author after all.
"I think you can tell I'm an English teacher," she said lightly, bringing two cups of tea with her.
John was torn out of his thoughts and thanked her as she handed him his drink. "I was sure that you were an author," he commented. "Not that I was going through your notes or anything – I was looking for your personal details when I stumbled some of your notes about the Doctor," he added hastily.
Clara giggled, blushing. "Well, this is embarrassing," she muttered. It then occurred to the school teacher that she never got the stranger's name. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."
"John, John Smith," he answered. "And what's there to be embarrassed about?"
He took a sip of the tea.
The notes and ideas she had written for a sci-fi novel were nothing more than just ideas. No one would actually read them. "Let's be honest here, it sounds silly."
"What's wrong with silly?" he questioned, granting her a small smile. "I think the idea sounds interesting – the Doctor stealing a time machine, what was it called?"
"The TARDIS."
"Yes, the TARDIS."
Clara grimaced. "They're just silly ideas I was playing around with," she said quietly.
John stared at the cup. "Believe me, you should give it a shot," he encouraged, smiling. "I'm not one for sci-fi but I wouldn't mind reading your story."
The school teacher's face finally lit up. "Well, I would have to write something first before I even consider publishing it," she laughed.
"It'll be worth it."
"You sound as if you're talking from experience," she teased.
John's eyes widened before let out a coughed. "No, no, I don't write stories or books, or anything like that," he said quietly.
Clara couldn't help but notice the dark suit he was wearing. It looked expensive and screamed high quality. "Are you a lawyer?" she guessed.
He chuckled at the question. "Nope, not a lawyer."
She racked her brain for another suggestion. John had like a professor vibe to him. "Professor?"
"No, but you're getting warmer."
"You're a doctor!" she said.
He gave her a nodded politely. "Congratulations on guessing correctly, Miss Oswald."
"What sort of a doctor are you, Dr Smith?" she asked curiously. Clara guessed he had to be a specialist.
"Please, call me John, only my patients call me Dr Smith," John stated as he glanced at her shyly as if he was embarrassed to tell her his actual career. "I'm a cardiovascular surgeon."
She raised her eyebrows, impressed. "At least I got the surgeon guessing right."
He arched a brow, finishing the tea. "What was your initial guess?"
"Neurosurgeon."
"To be fair, I did consider specialising in that, but I thought that my current speciality suited me better," he explained.
The two continued chatting for another hour until John decided to glance at the window. The rain had finally stopped. A part of him felt relieved while the other part dreaded ending the conversation. Clara is surprisingly a joy to talk with.
The school teacher followed his gaze and to her disappointment, the skies were clear. "The rain has stopped."
"Indeed, it has," he answered, voice much lower. John set down the empty cup on the coffee table, careful to keep it away from the marked homework assignments. "Thank you very much for your hospitality."
"It was the least I could do for returning my notebook," she answered, beaming.
He nodded before he stared at his hands, cleared his throat and got up. "I should be going now."
Clara followed him to the door and just before he stepped outside, he turned around. There was a twinkle in his eyes.
"You will consider writing a book, right?" he asked, grinning.
The teacher laughed at his question, nodding. "Yes, I will make a serious consideration, no thanks to you."
"Well, if it comes to that, be sure to thank me," he joked, taking his coat. John looked much younger when he smiled.
"I will be sure to thank John Smith, the kind stranger who went through the trouble of delivering my notebook to me, while it was raining."
There was a voice at the back of John's voice that told him to ask Clara out, maybe for coffee or dinner. He wanted to see her again. She wasn't like any other woman he had met. As he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his trousers, he felt the tickets his colleague and best friend, Martha Jones, had given him.
She had complained that he wasn't spending enough time outdoors, let alone socialising, and had handed him two tickets to 'The Play That Goes Wrong'. Apparently, Martha had won those but didn't have the luxury of watching the show as her shift conflicted with the dates on the tickets.
Maybe he finally found a use for them instead of planning to give them away to someone else.
John stepped out, glancing at her shyly again. "It was nice meeting you, Clara Oswald."
She beamed. "It was a pleasure meeting you, too, John Smith."
He nodded, mustering up the courage to ask her out. "Listen, my friend gave me two tickets to this new show," he explained. "It's a comedy and I have to use them by Saturday next week – would you like to join me?"
The school teacher blinked a couple of times before she realised John was asking her out on a date. A grin formed on her lips. "I've heard great things about that show."
The surgeon never felt so relieved. "Fantastic," he said. "I'll pick you up this Saturday, then, at say, six?"
"Yes, six it is," she confirmed, standing by the door.
He nodded. "See you then."
As he began walking, Clara called out his name and he turned around. She ran up to him, got on her toes and placed a soft kiss on his cheek.
"Thank you for returning my notebook," she whispered before returning to her flat while stood in the middle of the hallway, mouth slightly agape as he touched his cheek.
Clara wasn't able to wipe off the smile from her face for the rest of the day. She had been so worried when she realised her notebook had gone missing. Maybe it wasn't so bad she lost it after all.
