It simply wasn't fair. The Battle of Canary Wharf was so reminiscent of what he saw during his days during the war. He never wanted to relive them again. He lost so much during those days, however nothing as important to him as what he lost today. His beloved English Rose was gone forever, trapped in another universe. He prepared the TARDIS to leave the star that he destroyed for her. How ironic, he thought, that the gases disintegrating from the supernova were forming a rose shape. He wanted to get away from here, clear his head. He needed to move on, but he didn't want to. He tried to find a distraction, however there were no disturbances in time, nothing the TARDIS could detect. He circled the console pressing this and that, turning random dials, flipping switches mindlessly not caring where he ended up, just hoping it wasn't London. The engines sounded up and The Doctor slumped in the console chair.
The engines came to a halt and the TARDIS jilted as it landed. He didn't care to look to see where he landed before walking out the doors. For the first time in over 900 years of travel the TARDIS seemed very small and cramped, he had to escape. The Doctor stepped onto the street. He was surrounded by what appeared to be office buildings and the sounds of traffic around. He was in a city. The air was a mixture of scents; traffic fumes, spices from all different types of international cuisine, crisp, sterile air conditioning from the office building openings, perfumes and sweat from the thousands of people on the street, and one more thing... salt. He could smell salt on the air, he was on the sea. He followed his nose, and eventually his ears to the water. He came across a massive park, the grass covered in hundreds of white parrot-like birds. He closed his eyes and let the wind and smells of the ocean wash over him.
He was brought back to reality when a couple of, what appeared to be, Japanese tourists asked him to take their photo against a large white building. As he focused the camera he noticed the building was rather peculiarly shaped. The Opera House. He grinned and took the photo.
"I'm in Sydney." The Doctor smiled to himself. He scanned the harbour.
"Well Kiribilli is still accessible by water, so its before the assassination of Prime Minister Rudd in 2009, and there are still some red stains on the Opera House from the protest in 2003. It must be around about 2006 or 2007." He mused to himself. A pamphlet blew to his feet. December 2007 was the date. He glanced around the park, or rather the Royal Botanical Gardens. It was beautiful. His mind drifted back to her. He never thought of taking Rose to Sydney, there was so many things he hadn't thought of doing with her that were coming to mind now; taking her to see Michael Bublè at the Opera House, watching her as she watched the animals at Taronga Zoo, watching her sample a meat pie and vegemite. He sighed.
A girl was sitting not far from where he was. Her long, golden hair was blowing in the wind. There was something etherial about her. He could not put his finger on it, there was something so special, so familiar about her. She looked out on the harbour. Why couldn't he take his eyes off her? She began to cough, a lot. The Doctor thought this was odd because December in Sydney is not flu season. He started to run to her side, her wheezing for air. As he got to her side she passed out and collapsed to the ground. He took her in his arms and carried he to the TARDIS.