Gavin was sitting on the couch watching yet another woeful routine by a tall, blonde, gorgeous celebrity who looked vaguely familiar but he couldn't remember the name of. Martina, it said on the screen, but he'd be blowed if he knew what she was famous for. Maggie let out a small whimper and Gavin lifted his arm so she could adjust her head before settling back to watch the scores.
Tess had her arm around Martina, consoling as she was anxiously awaiting the judges' verdict when there was a knock on the door. Gavin looked down at his watch: 7:00 pm. He leant back and ran his hand through his hair, wondering who on earth would be calling at this time of night. As he sat pondering, Maggie jumped of the couch and waddled to the door, pawing at it and whining. Bloody dog, he thought, as he stood up and wandered over.
As he approached the door his attention was caught by the unfamiliar shape silhouetted in the small square of opaque glass. The man on the other side had longish hair slicked back and to the side. His chin jutted out an unusual amount as he squared his shoulders and tugged at something indistinguishable around his neck. It was the demeanour of someone confident of the task they were undertaking, only Gavin had never seen this man before in his life.
Confused and slightly cautious, Gavin opened the door to one of the strangest men he had ever seen. Dressed in black pants, an off-white shirt, suspenders, a brown tweed jacket and a red bowtie, his slightly hunched shoulders and jutted chin, hands clasped in front of him made him look slightly like a praying mantis. Gavin stood dumfounded for a moment taking him in, before regaining his composure.
'Who the bloody hell are you?' He spluttered, as Maggie barked happily at his feet.
The Doctor stood outside the door of a London flat, the number 216 glittering under the fluorescent light on the landing. He stood facing the glass, the sharp heat in his left pocket telling him that this was the right place. As he prepared himself for whatever remarkable possibility awaited him behind the door he squared his shoulders and straightened his bowtie, barely containing his inner glee as he heard footsteps on the other side.
As the door opened he clasped his hands in front of him in anticipation, thought the sight that arrested him was not what he expected. A man in his early thirties with sandy blonde hair and two days growth, around six foot tall and on the tubby side stood looking bewildered. He was wearing a singlet stained with some brown substance, probably coffee, though the Doctor couldn't be sure, and striped boxers. On his feet were a pair of old plaid slippers, one of which was almost chewed through, probably by the abnormally fat dog that stood happily beside him.
'Who the bloody hell are you?' the man spat, jolting the Doctor out of his inspection.
The dog barked jovially at him as he cleared his throat and looked round almost expectantly before announcing his name.
'I'm the Doctor', he said, a slight grin forming at the edges of his mouth, as it did every time he said his name, 'I'm looking for Margaret, is she here?'
The man looked at him flabbergasted. His hand moved the door back an inch as he gruffly announced, 'No Margaret here.'
The Doctor took a step further in so that he was standing in the door frame, looked the man straight in the eye and explained, 'I was sent a message.'
The Doctor looked at the man expectantly as he waited for a reply. The man however was becoming more and more irate by the second and swung the door shut as he sharply announced 'Don't know no Margaret and certainly don't need any help from a random stranger.'
The door slammed into the Doctors nose and toes, forcing him back out onto the landing. The Doctor, not able to decide which hurt worse, began an odd dance, hopping from foot to foot, his hands not able to decide whether they wanted to hold his nose or his feet.
'That Hurts!' he yelled, not quite sure to whom as he straightened himself up, wiggling out the pain.
He took the psychic paper out of his pocket and shook it in front of his nose, 'What's the point of having you if you're not going to work!' he yelled frustratedly, before shoving it back into his pocket and pacing confusedly on the landing, his hands still held out in front of him.
He was just about to walk away when he heard the door swing back open and he flicked around to see the man standing in the doorway.
'Sorry for bein' rude', he grumbled, 'Come in, I'll make you a cuppa.'
The Doctor smiled before rubbing his hands together and striding into the flat.