Hello. This is my first fic in english so it's short and I really hope I haven't made too many mistakes. Please tell me !

SPOILER WARNING : This fic takes place just before Reichenbach and is about the two episodes of Dr Who : The Sound of Drums and Last of the Time Lords (end of the third series)

And a special guest at the end (I'm trully sorry for him ! )

EDIT : thanks to phanpiggy for pointing my horrible mistake ! (I have corrected now)

About the influence of TV

Bored. He was so bored. Definitively and completely bored. Nothing to do. Nothing he could do. In fact, he had absolutely no idea of what to do and, for him, it was a first.

So Jim Moriarty was crouched on a bad sofa (he didn't care enough to buy a new one), upset by his momentary blank mind. He hated not having ideas. He hated not being capable of leaving his footprint all over London. He felt himself like a stupid journalist in front of his new page. And he was not stupid. Stupidity was for the commoners, for the audience not for players. He was the best player he knew. Of course he wasn't modest. What for ? Seriously ! And now the genius player was looking for his next move. Something great, something memorable, something ... like him. Really. No more (as if it could be possible ...), no less.

Absent-mindedly he switched on the tv and began to zap, giving a sidelong look from time to time. Nothing catchy. He was so bored (here he goes again). Suddenly he heard a familiar sound, this particular sound of a space engine. The one of the blue box.

For sure, Jim was a londoner, a true one, even if he enjoyed putting some bombs in the middle of the city. But he was certain that Guy Fawkes too loved England. Just like him. His love was just a little unusual, twisted. And so, like everyone, he had already seen all the episodes of the Doctor.

Which one was it ? Hum, David Tennant. Ok. With ? Oh, Martha Jones. All right. He liked her. Or more precisely, he didn't dislike her. He focused on the screen as an handsome man just appeared. Harold Saxon. Jim felt delightfully tensed. Just think of it : a Prime Minister who named himself as The Master. A shiver of pleasure went along his spine.

Becoming Prime Minister. It could be an idea, a good project for the next two years, but ... But first he was pretty sure the challenge will be no match for him, even with Mycroft Holmes in the game and secondly, even when he reached his goal, they wouldn't let him played with the nuclear launch button, so it was useless. He should find something else. Nonetheless he enjoyed listen to the Doctor saying Master again and again. How he craved for listening Sherlock baritone voice moaned Master to him. Again and again.

Jim's hand began to have its own life, going in some forbidden places. He felt so powerful at this moment. He liked it. Really.

A plan. He just needed a plan. They have a plan, why not him ? (Shitty prologue of Battle Star Galactica that stayed indelibly printed in the memory).

He followed distractedly the adventures of Harold on the screen. What ? He has hypnotized all the english population ? With only a simple beat ? Was it really that simple ? In the back of his mind, things became to fall into place. It was not precise, nor very defined but it was definitely here.

Jim was surprised to notice that his hand had left its prior place (and so stopped its prior activity) to beat a strange rhythm on the sofa. Some morse code. Every wheels of his mind suddenly moved from one notch. Hypnotism and morse code. I O U. He was up something. Ah, Sherlock, Sherlock ... His hand got back to its place. So good ! Now he could finally enjoy the attack of the so-called Toclafanes, and he did. Destruction. Exterminate !

Of course, Martha and that other woman, he didn't recall her name, ruined everything. Why the Master had had a woman in the first place ? That was so stupid. And to kill himself like that. Stupid. However ... The despair in the Doctor eyes. The feeling of being victorious. He could understand that, the chill of the final and eternal victory. No death could be more satisfying, could they ?

Jim didn't waste a regard for the funeral of the Master, he had better things to do. Now he had a plan. He buttoned up his pants and left his flat with a smile.

oOo

Mark raised his eyes to Heaven. Those "fanfics" got always more stupid. Moriarty didn't need to watch tv to have inspiration and certainly he could tell the difference between Toclafanes and Daleks not like the author. Hopefully he had true scenarists. And now that he thought about it, he was about to be late. He took his umbrella and headed to his black car.

A review please ?