A guard, oh, right, of course. Stopping the students from going down classified Torchwood matinence bays. However he thought the Doctor (at 998, honestly!) was still a student was long beyond him. Perhaps it was the glasses and the suit. Looked a bit like a schoolboy, if you squinted or had bad eyesight. Maybe the guard had bad eyesight. It would make sense.
"Uh, just...checking on...a person."
"You do repeat a lot, don't you? Fetching something for a friend."
"Wouldn't be an unclassified file from there, would it?"
"What?" A long, languishing, very unrealistic laugh, "No! No, of course not! No!"
"What's your friend's name?"
"He does have a name, does he not?"
"No, his name, of course he's got a name. It's...John. Smith."
"Yes, a Mr. John Smith."
The guard's eyebrow rose, naturally, unimpressed with so pathetic an excuse, "Identification, please."
"Identification, oh, that, that I have!" he pulled out the flap of psychic paper, showing it off easily. The niceities of psychic paper, took away all that nasty excuse business. Especially if one was in the market for particularly lame excuses.
Another eyebrow raise, "Very well, Sir. Go on your way."
Should've just asked him that in the first place, honestly.
Muse: the Doctor (10)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 257