The streets of London are quiet. There is a sharp chill in the air, the kind that bites at your nose if you stick around for too long. It is about that time of the evening where everyone is inside their cozy flats. Only a handful of locals and tourists bundled in the thickest of coats are braving the bitter winter to head to the local tavern.
No one bothers to take a glance at the poorly lit alleyway. It was the perfect spot for The Doctor to tuck himself so he can patch himself together.
He hobbles over to the nearest rubbish bin, ripping the lid away to dig through all of its discarded contents.
“Come on…! Anything? Anything!”
Alas, it’s not there. The stress building more and more inside of his head. He scrubs his face down with a hand and pulls out a digital watch from the inside of his coat, counting down by the second:
65:01:29
There is still time, but The Doctor is already playing a dangerous game of needle in a haystack.
Legs moving faster than his head, The Doctor makes a run for it until a sharp pain strikes him from the chest.
And then he collapses, body tripping over a stack of abandoned newspapers.
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carisma_sensei
[ High and Dry ]
Date: 2025-03-07 02:06 am (UTC)