Disclaimer: Doctor Who isn't mine. If it was things would be quite different. The BBC owns all and I bow before them.
Written awhile back for timepetalsprompts on tumblr and their weekly drabble prompt: the distinct smell and feel of leather.
The Doctor staggered away from the console, his mind crying out in agony. It felt so empty. Except for the mournful hum of the TARDIS inside his head, he was completely alone. Why had he survived?! The killer of his own kind, he'd had no desire to live.
He stumbled to the wardrobe room, shedding the clothes of a murderer with each step. Scowling at the bright colors, he inhaled the scent of animal hide and his eyes finally fell on a worn leather jacket. Black as his soul. Perfect. He slipped it on, armor to shut out the universe.