All rights for Doctor Who are the BBC's. I own nothing.
AN: I'm terribly sorry if there are any odd mistakes - this is what happens when you're posting through your iPhone. I've gone over it more than once, but still, it if happens... (If they ever bother getting a proper app...)
Prologue:
As the Doctor - the Twelfth one, mind you, even though he was really the fourteenth, and don't tell him I said that - walked down Baker Street, he found himself searching for a house. It was a specific house, even though he couldn't remember which one it was. He couldn't remember what was so special about it or why he was looking for it; the only thing he knew was that the moment he'd see it, he'll know.
The words Time Heals popped into his brain, but he shoved them aside. Why they suddenly came into his mind was a mystery, as much of a mystery as the reason he was searching for this house was. Was it something to do with Sherlock Holmes? He found himself wondering briefly before dismissing the idea. Vastra had nothing to do with the place, at least as far as he knew. I grinned - he couldn't be more wrong. She was the one who told me where to wait.
But back to the Twelfth one, anyway; the moment he thought about Vastra, something was stirred inside him. He spent the last dozen months trying to remember who this Clara was to him, but for nothing. He knew she was important, but couldn't remember her or anyone who had anything to do with her.
Until now.
Was it Vastra who called me? He had to dismiss that idea as well. The call was unique; it was someone who knew him even better than the Silurian - and god knows she knew him rather well. There were very few who knew him as well as she did. But if it wasn't a reaction to the call, it had to have been about his mysterious companion whom he couldn't remember.
His thoughts were all cut off when he found himself staring at a simple building in the end of the street. The way he knew he was called to that place, he knew that was the house he was searching for. There was something about that house... Some feeling that made the Doctor believe there was something or someone unique in there. Something familiar.
I could practically sense his thoughts. Familiar. He couldn't understand just how right he was.
Cautiously - well, for the first two and a half minutes, as he couldn't keep it up for more than that, and if you're asking me, that's rather long for us - he moved towards the building. In his right pocket his hand was holding his sonic screwdriver, ready for trouble. He could always... assemble some cabinets at whoever was in there.
"No, no, no, it's a terrible idea!" He suddenly heard from inside the house. It was as if the voice was responding to his own thoughts - which, mind you, I was - which made him take a step back in suspicion. "Oh, come on in here already!"
He can't be talking to me, can he? The Doctor wondered, again walking towards the house.
I was beginning to grow impatient. "Of course I can, it makes perfect sense!"
He stopped. Something didn't seem right. How could this man, whoever he was, be talking to him? Of course, he'd encountered a similar situation when he and Martha ended up in the past after their encounter with the Weeping Angels. But then, that was as if the man was responding to his thoughts - and there-
"Would you come in already?"
Deciding that caution clearly wasn't going to get him anywhere, the Doctor gave up and walked into the house.
That's where he saw me.
"Took you long enough. Ugh, too old. I really wanted not to be old." He stared at me, completely shocked. "Never mind, I guess you can't always get what you want. Well, sit down, will you? I don't have all day."
Still staring at me, he sat down in front of me on the only other couch in the room. For a moment I wondered why he's as shocked as he seems to be, before I remembered how shocked I was when the Warrior landed in front of me and the Doctor - well, the Tenth Doctor, that is. The last time he saw me was, after all, on Trenzalore.
So I grinned. "Geronimo!"
