The time was irrelevant, although at a wild guess it was most probably sometime between about 10,000,000 BC, and 10,000 AD, local time. All things considered, this was a fairly precise estimate. A man lay spread-eagled on his back, bathed in the ethereal orange glow that seemingly emanated from his surroundings in their entirety, rather than from any discernible source. It was undoubtedly this that moments later caused the face of his previously unconscious form to twitch, the eyes fluttering from the irritation of the light. He sat up, surveying his surroundings with only mild interest. The realisation that he'd awoke on a raised platform in the centre of a huge room dominated by a console desk apparently left him quite unperturbed. Indeed, he rose to his feet and stood thoughtfully for a moment, considering his surroundings, before flicking a switch on the console before him.

"List for automatic playback in two hours, recalibrate new brake system before trying to make planet-fall again."

The man had a gritty yet authoritative voice, its accent probably originating from one of the rose counties, most likely somewhere around Prestwich or Salford. The man looked down at himself, furtively tugging at the v neck of his t-shirt.

"And find a jacket; I must look ridiculous in just this thing"

As coherence slowly filtered back through his angular features he flicked the switch back and began typing furiously at a keypad with one hand, whilst the other still wrung the shirt. A screen to his right plipped and slowly spluttered into life. A grainy neon image appeared in the middle of the display.

POST DISPLACEMENT TIME ESTIMATE:
Thursday. Coming around for about teatime. Precisely.

On the whole this wasn't entirely helpful. In turn more letters materialised below.

TARDIS LOCATION:

Earth.

The man smiled, and bustled off through a doorway at the back of the room. The corridor that lay beyond would have looked like a set from a low-budget sci-fi television programme, had it not been for the fact that it stretched quite literally as far as the eye could see. About 20 yards along it the man entered a door on the left. Seconds later he stepped back out, wearing a cricket sweater and a look of intense confusion. He retreated, and returned once more, this time draped in a velvet smoking jacket. Another trip and he was wearing a curious pullover with question marks knitted into the weave. The man looked at the sign on the door, and began to laugh. An excursion through the door immediately to the right, and a battered leather jacket graced his shoulders. He rubbed his hands together and bounded back through the console room towards a pair of shabby blue doors. As he reached them they rattled violently, an anxious yell issuing from the other side.

"Okay. That's not usually good."

...

Tennyson Gardens was a perfectly ordinary street, bordered by perfectly ordinary houses, lived in by perfectly ordinary people who drove just some of the perfectly ordinary cars parked on the perfectly ordinary pavement. However there were two things in the street that were entirely extraordinary. One had yet to appear, and would be materialising in a few moments. The second was a girl. The extent of her remarkableness was exacerbated somewhat by how remarkably unremarkable she appeared. An oversized t-shirt, black skirt and ray ban sunglasses betrayed nothing of her nature, and the casual observer could be forgiven for thinking that apart from pretty features and an attractive figure, there was nothing particularly special about her. However, due to this being completely and unequivocally untrue, such a patently ordinary place would seem an untenable position for a girl as innately remarkable as the one in question. Surely, after all that had happened, something exciting, something out of the ordinary, would happen to her.

Indeed, a train of thought almost identical to this was forming in her mind. But she dismissed it immediately. She started striding more purposefully and tried to put the idea from her mind. The man she was thinking of had gone, and with every passing day the likelihood of his re-appearance diminished. The distinctive sound that she still listened out for every day would not return, no matter how hard she-

She stopped. It couldn't be. At this exact moment, fate had decided to play silly buggers with her, and the wind had blown in such a way as to resemble a scraping, grinding sound. A sound that, was growing LOUDER? She spun round. Despite not trying to get her hopes up, she was pretty sure that the last police box in Perivale had been removed at least 15 years before, and in any case, the one before her was flickering in and out of solid form the way only the TARDIS could.

...

The doors shuddered again, accompanied once more by shouts. The man flung the door open, and was confronted by a girl with long mousy hair now beating her fist against thin air, as she did so glaring at him with something between excitement and contempt.

"PROFESSOR?"

The man balked. "What... No. I mean... how do you...?"

"Who the hell are you?!"

The man looked at her, before a sudden burst of comprehension transposed a huge smile onto his face. "It's you! I never thought I'd see the day!"

The girl reared forwards. "Listen mister, I don't know who you are, but you'd better tell me what you've done with the Doctor and what you're doing in his TARDIS right now!"

"I AM the Doctor. Ace, it's me."

A/N: This is the beginning of my first Doctor Who story. I'm not entirely sure where it's going yet, or whether I'll develop it into a full story. I know there's very little here, but please tell me what you think of it. Cheers :D