If destiny is real, it's not finished with me yet.

youtube.com/watch?v=aKECRJ…

Something, something, something about tomorrow...

No, that wasn't me. Just looked like me. Because people like me? What's not to like?

Oh. Hello. Sorry, I... I don't think I'm meant to be here?

Right. Yes, just got knocked a little off course. Whoops.

oh, you know what they say. the tooth will out.

Juuuuust tinkering with a rake-broom-device-thingy — the gaffer's not really holding it in place. "Any chance of a hand?"

A blue police box sits on a street corner—a man wearing a brown overcoat hurriedly wafting smoke out of the doors, covering his face with the crook of his elbow. It smells like burning.

*Knock knock.* Hello! Sorry, mind me dropping in?

Adjusting the TARDIS console with his trusty mallet.

On a small corner of London town sits a quaint little gallery. Nothing too assuming, not usually. The Mycroft Gallery keeps itself to itself. That is until it unveils a new acquisition—a new, fantastic painting by the elusive Roland Lavigne, valued at over a million pounds. —

— 'Tulips''. And it's at the Mycroft Gallery for three weeks as part of a special exhibition. Such an expensive thing at such a small gallery—anything could happen. The museum director, Simon Lorde, is utterly delighted with the acquisition! —

— He's there to personally oversee the opening of the new exhibit on day one. "Thank you for coming," he says, taking the time to shake each and every visitor's hand. "This painting means a lot to me."

"Oooh." The Doctor frowns, tongue between his teeth as he peers at the monitor. "Something's gone wrong here. Big ol' dent in time. Wanna watch out, that could be a bumpy r— whoa!"

Who doesn't keep post-its?

That's new.