The last time the Doctor had been anywhere, particularly Earth, for this long and without a choice in the matter had been a long time ago. Before . . . a lot of things. He'd been fairly young then, though his regeneration had been older than the one he was in now. He was walking through the snow just watching the people of this world. He didn't have a particular destination in mind - he rarely did. Despite his bravado, a faint smile touched his lips. It was a tad condescending, but the fact that humans celebrated the passing of each year had always flummoxed and amused him. They really were desperate to get on with the future.
Eventually, he realized that he was nearing the hospital. As he walked through a park, hands tucked into the pockets of his black leather jacket, he glanced around idly, ducking the occasional person who'd started celebrating a bit too early. As he passed by another group, he noticed that they were drifting away from a familiar figure. Martha Jones, one of the Companions he had yet to actually travel with in the time he was from.
While normally, he didn't really like talking to anyone from further along his timeline than he, she seemed rather sad despite her laugh, and he meandered on over to her, stopping a few feet from behind her.