Just 300 or so words. Had little free time, bigger chapter on the way. Thanks once again for the reviews! To think, this started with a one shot and now I have a plot!
Thanks again, Heather x
The Doctors: Grave
The TARDIS noise echoed and groaned as the box of iridescent blue materialized onto sharply cup grass, leaves of amber and coppers whirling around. Out stepped the Doctor, his eyes shut and his posture one of annoyance and ultimately some form of slight acceptance; his shoulders hunched, his hands close to his chest, their pale pink a stark contrast against the sky blue of his shirt. He rubbed his palms fervently together to quench the rising trepidation that was lying in the pit of his stomach. He took a lungful of icy air and opened his eyes to his to the London graveyard. It was wide, open and plain with a mixture of graves dotted; some black, some marble and some of a dull grey stone and the first thought that crossed the Doctor's mind was:
I shouldn't be here.
He swallowed, bile rising in his throat as he fought to think about anything but where he was. He looked skywards, greeted by the pale grey of a Tuesday. Brilliant, the old girl had brought him to a Tuesday. He hated Tuesdays. He let out a shallow breath he didn't know he had been holding, the cloud of cold air dancing in front of his vision.
He hated graveyards to. Grave yards were the epitome of endings. And he hated endings. Lives lost, given, taken. Ponds dried up. He sniffed, trying to be strong. He didn't need reminding of that now. The Ponds were gone. End off. End. Stop. Done.
As if.
But no, that wasn't why he was here. He was here for John. He stepped forward, strolling through the rows of graves, his hands now buried deeply in his pockets.
When he had gotten the phone call from Mycroft he'd been surprised. More than that, he'd been perhaps…relieved. A distraction. And that in itself was a blessing. And now he felt horrible. Using his friends misery and confusion. But the Doctor couldn't help but think…was it? Confusion? If any man could keep death at bay it was Sherlock. No. The Doctor sucked in a breath and let it out, pausing, a hand grazing stone.
It was over by a tree. On its own. Black marble, lettering dignified and refined. Sherlock Holmes.
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