A farewell to the Eleventh Doctor, with one final run of adventures for him throughout time and space.
Picking up his spare bowtie from the glorious treasure chest hiding in a hidden nook in the console room, the Doctor looked at it intently. His eyes rapidly examined the pattern on it, trying to recall when he last wore it. It dangled from his fingers, swaying hypnotically. He watched it move back and forth for a moment before remembering why he needed it.
"Ah!" He groaned as he tried to remove his current bowtie. He had been performing repairs on the console when it had sparked excessively, causing a minor fire. No damage was done, the only victim being the burning bowtie around his neck. He threw it to the floor, stamping on it until the embers were squashed. "And that was my favourite one."
The Doctor rested against the console, a sombre look on his face. He was travelling alone, bouncing from place to place, having weird and wacky adventures just as he always did. The only problem was that he wanted someone to share them with. He had spent evenings in the library and afternoons talking to his beautiful TARDIS. He had redesigned his sonic screwdriver and written a series of children's books. But no matter what he did, it couldn't distract him from his loneliness.
"Come on then." He spoke soothingly. "Somewhere new."
Yanking on a lever, the Doctor was hurled across the room. He laughed with glee as the ship raced through the vortex, to a meeting he wasn't expecting.
The TARDIS materialised with an audible bump. The Doctor stroked the console gently, apologised and grabbed his coat. He reached the door with a swift jump, hesitating before opening it. Pushing the hair from his face and checking his outfit, he knew he was ready.
The world outside was dark, misty and dreary. The Doctor immediately got his boots stuck in the mud and he struggled to free himself. "Well this is not what I was expecting." His face curled into half a frown and he walked on. The mist caught around his ankles, unmoving and endless. With every step, he felt the light from his ship fade and began to sense something unpleasant in the distance - he didn't need to look at the back of his hands to know that the hairs were standing on end. He clicked his fingers and the doors to his TARDIS shut; he was bathed in darkness.
Using his screwdriver as a light, he weaved across the landscape. He couldn't figure out why he had been brought here - there was nothing worth noting. Except then he caught sight of an old tree in the distance. The branches were warped and worn away without a single leaf in sight. It was dead, just like the rest of this planet. Then his foot caught on something. It was a large stone jutting out of the ground.
"I'm on a graveyard planet." His fingers traced the writing on the stone, his hearts lamenting the sadness of the place. "I don't want to be here." His mind recalled a recent voyage to a similar place, to the time when he had discovered the secret of the Impossible Girl. He shook free of the reminiscence, clearly knowing that this was a different place. The Doctor ran his screwdriver over the gravestone, curious to know where he was. It bleeped a warning to him - this was Focii, a world dedicated to the forgotten and displaced, to those lost in time or space. "I shouldn't be here."
But there was a noise approaching, a whir of electrics whistling towards him on a ghostly wind. He swivelled on the spot, eyes wide with concern. But there was nothing.
"Hello?" He declared, louder than necessary. "Is there anyone out there?"
He knew there was something. He couldn't quite perceive it but knew it was watching him. So he ran.