He's suffocating. His lungs cry out for air that will never come. There's a hole inside him that he can't seem to fill, no matter how much air he gulps down. It's never enough. He tries to breathe in as much oxygen as his lungs can take. He can't breath for that long.

Where his hearts used to sit are merely bloody wounds. And now black blood pumps below his skin. Black as the thoughts that run through his head on a daily basis.

Everything is dark. Ahead of him is nothing. His dull, hollow eyes can't seem to focus on anything anymore. He can't find the energy to make them. There's no one to light the way anymore.

Vastra tried to help him. She'd cover the TARDIS with notes telling him to come see her. It's important. The Earth is in danger. Or from Strax, saying he's going to blow up London if he doesn't show up soon. Jenny would talk about how the old man in that house always had his curtains closed and he could be harboring an alien. Or maybe it's just a closed curtain.

It doesn't matter anymore. He's lose the ability to care. He doesn't want to save anyone anymore. His soul is empty. His will to do anything is gone. There's no real reason anymore.

They're all he's ever known. His first sight was her. He's never really known anything else.

Now? They're gone. River will have to go to the Library soon. Sarah Jane is gone. He never even caught the details on how. The Brigadier is gone. His oldest friend. He'll never see him again. Even Jack hates him now. He still blames him for what happened to his Torchwood team.

And his best friends. He can't even bring himself to say their names anymore. It's his fault. He could have left them alone. He could have let them be happy. She could have lived a perfectly happy life without four therapists. She didn't have to watch her husband die 11 times.

River hates him now. She'll scream at him to stop this. To keep those brakes on his TARDIS. To save someone. To stop morning. To help an innocent. To do something, anything.

But she doesn't get it. No one has to die at his hand. He's retired. He doesn't need to hurt anyone anymore. He can just lie back, just like the Time Lords did before he massacred them. He's finally learned his lesson.

They won't burn if you don't spark the flame.

And it's true. There are less fires on Earth when he doesn't bomb the forest. There are less planets burning when he doesn't drop the match. He's letting them choose. Something he's never done before.

Be burned or don't.

They can burn themselves if they want to. He'll help them. He'll not stop them again. The Daleks could kill every last race and he wouldn't even blink. The Cybermen could convert him and he wouldn't even notice. Someone could punch him in the face and he wouldn't even sit back up again.

He's lose the will to live. He's given up. Given up on himself.

When the letters stop appearing on his doors, he knows they have too.

He's not the only one who's given up on the Doctor.

He's not the only one who hates him for it either.