Bowtie

The Doctor turned his head. He had walked down this corridor countless times before yet it was the first time he had set is eyes on this particular room, with its old wooden door left slightly ajar. The Doctor was deep in the TARDIS, some days he liked to park it in orbit and take a walk through his home. He was always finding new rooms that he never thought the TARDIS would, or could, generate. However he was always finding old rooms, full of his past lives and friends long lost in time. He wondered if he could even tell the difference anymore.

With a youthful curiosity The Doctor headed to the entrance to this strange room and pushed the door gently. The aging wood moaned in un-expectant agony as it swung wide to reveal the contents of the dull-lit room. The Doctor was faced first with a dusty mirror, it had a split almost corner to corner but it was still functional enough to return The Doctor's image. He stared at it for a split second, until he recognised himself and straightened his bowtie. His vision turned to the rest of the room which was seemingly filled with the same kind of junk, similarly broken or impaired in the same fashion as the mirror. Against the wall leaned twisted bits of metal and warped wood, and the tables and desks were littered with smaller items; some he thought he recognised, and others completely alien to him.

As The Doctor proceeded forward more of the room came into view. The shape of the place he was in seemed to be oblong with the farthest wall to his right. He lifted his foot to walk but his shoe connected with a copper pipe protruding dangerously from the side of the walkway towards the centre of the room. A clanging resonated through what seemed like a kitchen sink. The Doctor looked up towards the rest of the room once more and spied a feint spotlight falling on a square object. Instantly intrigued he made his way over to examine the humble pedestal. As The Doctor got closer to the mystery item he began to make out what he was seeing. It was a smallish, undecorated, oaken wooden box with crude metal hinges holding the lid in place. The Doctor was expecting a keyhole but with nothing stopping the opening of the box his hand reached out to touch it.

The Doctor froze, he had been here before. He clenched his outstretched hand as the memories hit him.

Cravat

"Dora?!" The Doctor shouted in panic. As he ran his right hand stayed firmly grasped around the thing in his palm. To his right he saw a wooden door and headed for it. He collided with the door a little too hard in his haste and it crashed wide open. He jumped as he caught the sight of a tall dark figure staring back at him in the low light. The Doctor looked into the cracked mirror and recognised his eighth face, but not the blustered look on it. "Dora" he muttered as he looked wildly around the room he was in, his long velvet jacket spinning around in a craze. "Perfect" he thought as he blundered inside before tripping up on a hard metal item by his foot. "Ahh" He wheezed, "Dora.." The Doctor jumped to his feet and made his way to the far side of the room, albeit with a small limp, and started rummaging through a desk with his left hand, his right still clamped tight. The Doctor, infuriated by the lack of useful things swept the junk to the floor and began looking around the room again. That is when he saw a smallish, undecorated, oaken wooden box.