A/N: A little ficlet set after the Reichenbach Fall, before The Day of the Doctor, and after Goodbye, Stranger.
To the Doctor—
I don't like you. You don't like me. But let's put that all aside for a moment.
Take care of John.
Sherlock
Doctor,
Okay, Doc, you know I'm no good at this touchy-feely crap. That's more Sammy's thing. But you're the only person who listens to me anymore. About this whole thing with—with Cas. Do you even know where he—if he's—
I have to know, if you know what I mean. Just bring him home.
Dean
Hello, sweetie 3
-River
Dear Doctor,
You told me once, I don't know how long ago, that if I wrote to you, somehow the letter would find you. Well, I'm hoping this does.
You aren't traveling alone, are you? No, don't answer that.
How's River? She never writes. Neither do you. And I'm starting to think all this was a dream. But I know that's me being stupid again.
Rory sends his love, and so do I. Please write back soon, Doctor.
Love, Amy
The Doctor takes a step back from the TARDIS's inbox, finding his eyes filled with tears.
"What is it, Doctor?" Clara asks, and she tentatively steps around the console to his side.
"Nothing, Clara. Just... just some errands that need running. I'll drop you off at Barastabon, shall I? Absolutely scrumptious chocolate gateau, you'll have to get me some." The Doctor beamed in the most reassuring way he could manage, flicking a few of the TARDIS's controls back and forth.
She gave him one of those knowing smiles. "Of course I will, chin boy."
The TARDIS phases out slowly.
"John!" the Doctor shouts gleefully. "John, look what I br—" The Doctor stops short, skidding along the floor and nearly knocking over Mrs. Hudson. "John?"
Mrs. Hudson just sighs like she didn't expect anything else, then suddenly bursts into tears. One arm wrapped securely around the old landlady's shoulders, the Doctor brings her over to the armchair furthest from where John sprawls on the carpet. The smell of alcohol is almost overwhelming.
A paper bag of croissants and chocolate gateau lies forgotten on the floor.
The Doctor spends a day searching the globe for the wayward Castiel. He rides a bus from Vermont all the way to New Jersey and nearly goes insane from boredom.
He finds a single black feather on a street corner.
But when an angel doesn't want to be found... the Doctor sighs, and sits down on a curb. The feather drifts slowly to the ground.
"River!" the Doctor says loudly into the TARDIS's telephone. "River?"
"Hello, sweetie! It's me. I'm off on my way to the library at the moment, so leave a message after the tone. Mwah!"
The Doctor sits down at the typewriter. He rubs his palms together in anticipation, and then settles his fingers on the keys.
He begins to write, but suddenly all he can see is the face of a stone angel.
"Amy," he says. Eventually, he steps away from the typewriter. All that is written on the pristine white paper is the phrase "For the Girl Who Waited—"
He tapes this to the bag of croissants and gateau.
"Did you have fun running errands, Doctor?" Clara asks when he picks her up from Barastabon.
"I did," he lies as convincingly as he can. "Yeah, lots of fun. You know me and fun."
Clara picks up a smooth black feather from where it lays on the TARDIS console. "I can tell."
The Doctor closes his eyes, and all he can see is a lonely feather on the side of a street.