A/N: I apologise if it wasn't what you expected, but I couldn't resist. Just some innocent drabble fun.
Acknowledgments: Casey, as per usual, is a beast.
Of all places, the Doctor had to take him back to his precious Earth.
And surely enough, he had been spotted. Harold Saxon. Rehabilitated and back on planet Earth. He wasn't stark raving mad, wasn't executing American Presidents (though that didn't mean he didn't want to) and wasn't manipulating a future human race under paradoxical conditions.
The Doctor was an idiot.
Earth's journalists wanted the next big story. Their last Christmas invasion story wasn't selling the newspapers anymore and whilst the odd story about a cat up a tree or a puppy in the sewer caught the attention of the compassionate soul, what Britain wanted was scandal. Britain wanted hot, juicy gossip and what better way was there to deliver than making Harold Saxon front page news?
The Doctor said that he would play his psychiatrist, the miracle worker of a deranged mind, and on some level, he wouldn't be lying. In many respects, the Doctor had healed him, kept true to his name, the man who made things better.
…But a male psychiatrist showing an equally male ex-Prime Minister the way? The tabloids would label them both. Is Harold Saxon rutting his psychiatrist? Harold Saxon, metrosexual or flaming homosexual? Harold Saxon, basket case or closet case? Did Lucy Saxon really shoot ex-Prime Minister over sexuality? Page 24 tells all!
It was all he could think about as he prepared to make an address as a perfectly sane, rehabilitated Harold Saxon, that whilst he had assassinated the American President and tried to take over the world, he was alright now, and all thanks to his camp looking psychiatrist. He sighed.
This was not going to go down well.
As he turned, feeling the Doctors consciousness brush comfortingly against his, reassuring him of a positive outcome, he was surprised to discover what he felt wasn't what he saw. And what he saw, was a woman.
"Now dear, don't slouch," a rather feminine-looking Doctor scolded lightly, his hair falling in brunette ringlets that cascaded over his shoulders. A pencil skirt hugged his hips, stockings accentuated his heavenly legs and heels showcased elegant ankles.
The Master couldn't keep a moan from escaping his throat as the Doctor leaned in close, honey eyes peering hungrily at him through thick lashes.
"Who are you supposed to be then?" the Master half growled, lacking his usual conviction.
"Your psychiatrist!" the Doctor chimed, a flirtatious smirk spreading across carmine lips.
The Master raised a brow, trying not to focus on the other Time Lord's mouth. But the Doctor had even gone so far as to apply the finest mascara and eyeliner combination and the Master was losing himself in his delicately framed gaze. "I think my psychiatrist has more issues than his patient."
"His?" the Doctor questioned before brushing soft locks from his face displaying perfectly manicured nails. "I'm all woman, Harry. If you had a problem with that, you shouldn't have married me."
"Married you?" He should have, would have questioned the gender change but the claims of matrimony caught him off guard.
"Do you think they're going to believe I healed you completely, without you finding love?" the Doctor asked, sounding decidedly conniving. "After Lucy shot you, you had commitment issues, you went into therapy, and you started seeing your--arguably professional--psychiatrist, Joanne." He clicked his tongue, before continuing. "With her, you learned to love again, worked through all your issues and... you proposed..." The Doctor smirked, placing his hand at the Master's hip. The Master swallowed.
"Now." Joanne led the ex-Prime Minister toward the waiting journalists, a vision of confidence next to a flustered Saxon. "Smile for the camera, and keep your hands away from my skirt."