Back inside 221B Baker Street, the bedraggled man had burst through the door into the sitting room where Sherlock and John were seated. And in seeing the nervous state that he was in Sherlock told him to sit down in a chair by the fire, and have a drink of brandy. Eventually he composed himself as much as was possible, but he still sat with a nervous twitch and kept regularly glancing toward the window as if to check if there was anybody there, which he knew was impossible, as he was now seated in a second story room.
"You come here seeking advice" Sherlock said. Not a question, just a statement.
"Yes" said the man "My name is Francis Khislamova, and I am in desperate need of your help"
The Doctor took out the psychic paper from his pocket, he could always tell when there was a message on the paper because it became almost hot in his pocket. He looked at the message again and again, trying to make sense of it or remember if he should have known the name there, as it was in fact a name.
"Francis Khislamova! Aww that's rubbish. I thought it was gonna be some exciting plea for help, and all you give me is a name!" by this time The Doctor was waving the psychic paper around and almost reprimanding it. He turned around and stalked towards the TARDIS console and typed in the name to see what the TARDIS could tell him about this mysterious person. The TARDIS had information on every living being on any planet at any time, so The Doctor was reliant and dependant on her (the TARDIS had always been a her to The Doctor). For no second did he ever imagine that the TARDIS would have absolutely no idea or information on who this person was.
"Well... That's not good" said The Doctor, absently walking around the room, he stopped to pick up the strange cube object and carried on wandering. "whatever you are" he said to the object, "I'd bet you've got something to do with Francis Khislamova". As soon as the words were out of his mouth the object started moving, twisting and turning itself as if it was unlocking a thousand tiny pieces inside just to get to the outside. The Doctor just stared at it, amazed as the cube dismantled itself on his palm in the flash of an eye. It was no longer a cube, in The Doctor's hand laid an odd shaped flat piece of metal, as if all the walls of the cube had flattened to create a disfigured star shape. What was even more peculiar was that it had carvings on every surface, each symbol carved on it was a word. It was a language The Doctor knew well, and he instantly recognised the string of numbers in the centre of the shape, these stood out as they were not only in a font twice the size of the other writings, but because they were something the doctor used almost every day; coordinates.
The Doctor immediately rushed over to the console, moved a few of the levers and buttons and typed in the coordinates that were on the object. The time rota started ascending and descending as the TARDIS began to move about, throwing The Doctor around as he held onto the console. The only noise he could hear was The Doctors favourite noise in the entire universe: the sound of his TARDIS in flight.
As the TARDIS settled on its destination it materialized on the side of a pathway outside a row of houses at the other side of a modern-day London. The Doctor inside was almost running towards the door with excitement, curiosity, and just a little bit of apprehension. He threw the door open, however, to a street he had seen before. He had seen this road many times along his journeys. He staggered back as a series of memories shot through his head, all in the wrong order of course, first there were the happy memories, then the funny ones, and The Doctor found that he was smiling to himself, because these were some of his favourite memories, and some of the best times he had ever had. They were clear as glass in his mind, because they had been very recent, to him at least. Time passes a lot more slowly when you've lived for 907 years. As he stepped onto the pavement that he had been on just 9 months before, he laughed to himself as another memory shot through his mind, but this memory was tainted, because The Doctor knew how this memory ended. He knew that he could never be here, because he knew its consequences, and he wouldn't risk that for the world. The Doctor sighed and stared longingly at the house in front of him, just wishing he could walk inside and talk to her again. But he knew he couldn't. Because this was the house of his best friend.
This was the house of Donna Noble
A.N. Thank you to everyone that has read, reviewed, favourited or subscribed to this. Your feedback means a lot to me, and will probably motivate me to write faster! The chapters are all going to be pretty short; around the 1000 words mark, so that I can update more regularly and you don't have to wait as long for a new chapter.