Author's Note: This story was born out of a letter that I wrote to my friend for Christmas. Once she read the letter, she knew it was destined to become a fanfic Truthfully, she wrote the majority of the story, and I edited. So, honestly, I only own a few of the words here.

Sincerely, the Doctor : Chapter One

While waiting on the brick steps of her Mum's London flat, she pressed the lead tip of her mechanical pencil into the notebook paper and wrote down the lyrics that had been running rampant in her mind throughout the day. Rose had hit a another creative streak, and whenever these lovely outbursts came over her, she made the most of them. Only that week she had crocheted a pair of booties for her neighbor's daughter, knit a purple beanie for herself, and painted several of her mother's teacups. More often than not, the artistic bent lasted only about two weeks before Rose no longer felt the consuming inspiration and the creativity block set in.

But as of now, the lyrics effortlessly spilled onto the paper; Rose barely thought about them as they were channelled through her hand onto the page. Her blonde hair fell in front of her face, but she didn't push it back. She only had time to write a few lines before she felt someone's hand under her chin, pulling her face up to look. She squinted as the sun shone directly into her eyes.

"Heya, Rose," Mickey smiled. "Ready to go? I found a nice flat to check out, about four kilometres from here. Sounded pretty affordable." He reached out his hand to help her up. "What have you got there?" Mickey asked, gesturing at her work.

"It's nothing; just rubbish, really," Rose replied. She quickly stuffed the notebook into her backpack and before taking Mickey's hand.

Well, I think you'll really like the flat," Mickey said. He gave her a peck on the cheek and quickly hailed a cab. Rose tried to mirror his excitement, but honestly, her mind was elsewhere. It was easier to concentrate on the ideas pervading her mind than her own very real future. She couldn't wrap her head around the fact that she and Mickey were flat-hunting. Their relationship certainly was progressing. Too quickly perhaps. She'd known Mickey all of her life, had practically grown up with him. Maybe that's why it felt strange. So much change after all those years of stagnant friendship. Lost in her thoughts, Rose barely registered the passing of time.

Due to the London traffic, the should-have-been ten-minute trip became a forty-minute slog. Mickey had never been fond of being tardy, and that honourable trait was reflected in his mood as the cab ride dragged on. By the time they arrived, Mickey's lopsided grin was nowhere to be found. He explained to her, and not in the most patient manner, that their tour of the flat would be cut short, then they had to make the trip back home, and he would be missing Foyle's War for this. Rose, of course, didn't mind. She was still dreaming up lyrics and composing melodies to accompany them. She hardly noticed her surroundings as the real estate agent led them through the flat, selling the space to Mickey as best as she could. As they reached the last room in the space, there was an expectant silence. As it became clear no opinions would be freely offered, Mickey finally addressed her.

"What do you think, Rose?"

Rose looked up at Mickey and realised that she had missed the question, as well as the entire conversation leading up to it.

"Sorry, wha'?" She raised her eyebrows, hoping that Mickey wouldn't be cross with her.

"The flat. Do you like it, Rose?"

Caught off guard, she quickly glanced around the room, searching for something noteworthy. As a whole it was a bit bland for her taste, but that could be remedied with a bit of work.

"Well, yah I like it. It's a proper flat...but it's a bit boring, I think," she answered. "This whole room is plain white, and that-"

"Actually, it's eggshell," Mickey interrupted.

"Same difference," she said, waving his comment away with her hand. "However, I could paint a design on the door, and add a purple rug here, and maybe a yellow armchair by the window," Rose walked about the room spewing off ideas. Swept up in the new inspiration, the idea of a new flat excited her. Every room could have a different colour scheme, and she would go antiquing for all of the decorations.

"Well?" she asked Mickey, practically beaming.

"Wha'?" Mickey exclaimed, wrinkling his nose. Rose wasn't sure if he was confused or disgusted. "I don't think so, Rosey. When will you have time to do all that? You have to work, and you have online classes to take. Plus, once you're all done with that, you'll barely have any time for me, not to mention this painting nonsense. I think we ought to leave it as is."

Rose felt her face fall. "Fine," she muttered under her breath. Fortunately, the tour ended shortly thereafter, sparing her any more embarrassment. She wasn't of a mind to continue their search for a flat. Actually, she was cross with Mickey. Why did he have to be so boring? She was sure that life wasn't simply about work and school and him. Why shouldn't she paint the flat the way she wanted?

As they waited on the sidewalk and Mickey hailed a cab, something caught Rose's eye. Yes, there were a lot of people in London. There were a lot of mental people in London. But it's not everyday that you see someone spinning around and shouting at thin air. Rose cocked her head to one side. What was he doing?

One block over, the odd bloke was running about, pointing some kind of metal wand at the sky. He brought the thing close to his face and started shouting. Rose couldn't exactly make out what he was saying over the noise of the rush hour traffic, but to whatever he was speaking, he certainly didn't want it there. The funny thing was that, although the guy was seriously bonkers, he was quite the smart dresser, and he certainly wasn't hard on the eyes. His dark brown hair was like a tidal wave, and he had the squarest jaw that Rose had ever seen. Oh, and his cheekbones were simply killer. He wore a tweed jacket, and a red bowtie. Funny, Rose thought, you don't really see bowties all that often. His cropped pants actually caused her to laugh. "Where's the flood, buddy?" She giggled to herself.

"Wha'?" Mickey asked without turning around.

"Nothin'," Rose replied, not taking her eyes off the strange man. The poor chap was probably delusional, screaming at something that wasn't there. He spun on his heel and began to run down the street, but just for a second, he looked in Rose's direction. No, not just in her direction. He saw her. He was looking right at her. She instantly felt self-conscious, guilty even, like she shouldn't have been staring. But she didn't break eye contact with him. There was something about him that drew her eye, and she wouldn't look away. He didn't look away either - that is, until he slapped himself and sprinted away.

Rose furrowed her eyebrows. It most definitely crossed her mind that she had just locked eyes with a psychopath. But it didn't matter. He was gone, and she had other things to think about. Mickey snapped his fingers in front of her face.

"Rose? Hello? Cab's here."

"Right. Sorry."

Soon enough, Rose was back in the safety of her mum's flat. With a relieved sigh, she kicked off her boots, and changed into her pajamas. She put all thoughts of the flat and of Mickey behind her. Finally, she could relax. And nothing helped her to relax more than her Mum's earl grey tea. She went to the kitchen to put the kettle on, but instead found that there was already a piping hot cuppa on the table, along with a saucer of biscuits and a letter.

"Mum? Is this tea for you?" Rose called out. She didn't think her Mum was home, and upon hearing the silence in response, her suspicions were confirmed. Maybe her Mum had made the tea for Rose in anticipation of her return. At any rate, the tea wasn't going to drink itself.

Rose sat down at the table, held the warm mug in her hands, and smelled the steam rising from the tea. She looked at the letter. It was addressed to her. The handwriting was slightly messy, but still legible. The return address was what stunned her. " The Doctor, 1 Mayan Road, Chichen Itza, Mexico, I don't think this has a zip code. I'm not sure. Wherever I am, I'm the Doctor."

Rose took a letter opener to the envelope, pulled out the paper inside, and began to read.