"Need a doctor? I am a doctor. The Doctor," he clarifies, enunciating the difference with great pride. He waves the sonic screwdriver in a fluid 'S' pattern around the cupboards and stares at the readings before he turns around to walk back to the woman. "You're not frightened. You think you're in a luxury hotel, which means that either my deepest, darkest fear is of marble floors and gothic arches or I've somehow stumbled into yet another parallel universe of sorts," he says, realisation dawning on him as he says the words. "Clever," he muses, to himself.