You're in luck. I was working on this this morning. It may get expanded into a full length story someday, but here's an abbreviated version:
"No Rest for the Wicked"
I was about half an hour into my well-deserved rest when dinosaurs invaded my home. Well, that was what it sounded like. A dinosaur in an old B-movie when it’s fighting with the incongruent cavemen. I woke with a start, listening for a second, realized what was happening and ran down the stairs. Aside from movie dinosaurs, which I don’t doubt could possibly arrive at my place someday, knowing my life, there was only one thing that made that sound. Sure enough, when I reached the bottom of the stairs, there was a large 1950’s police box in my living room.
“Hell’s Bells,” I muttered, waiting.
The door opened and a young man in a striped suit and long trench coat stepped out. I wasn’t expecting that. Nor was I expecting him to look at me with a cat’s grin and exclaim, ‘’Ello, ‘arry!’ as though we were old friends.
“But you said magic wasn’t real!” A girl said, stepping out after him. She wasn’t who I was expecting either. She was a pretty, black girl, with a maroon leather jacket and hairstyle that seemed to be modeled on a pineapple. “With those witches.”
“What witches?” an American voice asked. It belonged to a man lounging in the doorway to the phonebox. He had a blue military coat on. He grinned a perfect, white-toothed grin at me and winked. “I went out with a witch once. Total hag. When you’re drunk though, everyone looks good. Fun night, but she cursed my - “
“Jack,” the trench coated man interrupted. He turned to the pineapple girl. “It wasn’t real with those witches. That was science.” He gestured to me. “This is magic.”
“Where’s the Doctor?” I asked, sleepily.
“Oh,” the trench coated man said. “Right. I was the other me last we met. I’m the Doctor.” I opened my mouth and he held up a hand. “I know I don’t look like the Doctor, but I am. I had to regenerate. You are Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden, you once saved my life with a drumstick and when you were 12, you made it snow in your living room and were grounded for a month.”
I opened and closed my mouth a few times. “You changed your accent,” I said, finally.
“Yes, well, sometimes you need to do that. Anyway, time to save the world!”
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"No Rest for the Wicked"
I was about half an hour into my well-deserved rest when dinosaurs invaded my home. Well, that was what it sounded like. A dinosaur in an old B-movie when it’s fighting with the incongruent cavemen. I woke with a start, listening for a second, realized what was happening and ran down the stairs. Aside from movie dinosaurs, which I don’t doubt could possibly arrive at my place someday, knowing my life, there was only one thing that made that sound. Sure enough, when I reached the bottom of the stairs, there was a large 1950’s police box in my living room.
“Hell’s Bells,” I muttered, waiting.
The door opened and a young man in a striped suit and long trench coat stepped out. I wasn’t expecting that. Nor was I expecting him to look at me with a cat’s grin and exclaim, ‘’Ello, ‘arry!’ as though we were old friends.
“But you said magic wasn’t real!” A girl said, stepping out after him. She wasn’t who I was expecting either. She was a pretty, black girl, with a maroon leather jacket and hairstyle that seemed to be modeled on a pineapple. “With those witches.”
“What witches?” an American voice asked. It belonged to a man lounging in the doorway to the phonebox. He had a blue military coat on. He grinned a perfect, white-toothed grin at me and winked. “I went out with a witch once. Total hag. When you’re drunk though, everyone looks good. Fun night, but she cursed my - “
“Jack,” the trench coated man interrupted. He turned to the pineapple girl. “It wasn’t real with those witches. That was science.” He gestured to me. “This is magic.”
“Where’s the Doctor?” I asked, sleepily.
“Oh,” the trench coated man said. “Right. I was the other me last we met. I’m the Doctor.” I opened my mouth and he held up a hand. “I know I don’t look like the Doctor, but I am. I had to regenerate. You are Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden, you once saved my life with a drumstick and when you were 12, you made it snow in your living room and were grounded for a month.”
I opened and closed my mouth a few times. “You changed your accent,” I said, finally.
“Yes, well, sometimes you need to do that. Anyway, time to save the world!”
I blinked at him. “I’ll get some pants.”