"Business, is that what you're calling it?" the Doctor asked, raising an eyebrow. "I was thinking more imprisonment and manipulation."
Sherlock snorted. "I'd have added isolation, too," he told the screen.
"Now really, Doctor," the Master said, smiling almost paternally at him. "There's no need for such harsh language. In any case," he added, before the Doctor could respond, "I'm afraid we've been busy."
"Wish I was," the Doctor muttered. "Busy how?"
"Oh, this and that," he answered airily, clearly being deliberately vague. "You know me, Doctor." He grinned. "Nothing you'd approve of, I can promise you that."
"Ah, now, we're not being entirely fair," Moriarty admonished him, smiling from the background. "I'm sure both of these gentlemen can appreciate a well-planned… campaign."
"Depends on the campaign," the Doctor responded warily. "Go on, then." He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. Sherlock closed his eyes, sighing as the feed from the sonic crackled and shook.
"Doctor, are you saying you've forgotten?" The Master shook his head, looking terribly sorrowful. "Don't tell me you never turn up to see how it goes. Maybe you can give me a hint on the ending?"
"Not a chance." Rolling his eyes slightly, the Doctor asked, "Are you referring to your hypnosis control scheme? The drumbeat rhythm?"
The Master twitched slightly, though his expression didn't change. Sherlock smiled, knowing immediately that this drumbeat, whatever it was, was a definite pressure point.
"Yes, exactly. I suppose that means you figured it out somehow?"
The Doctor tapped the side of his nose with the end of the screwdriver, much to Sherlock's chagrin. Just his luck to get stuck with someone who talks with his hands. "Ah, now," the Time Lord said with a somewhat forced grin, "that'd be telling."
"It doesn't much matter anyway," Moriarty put in. "You don't have to worry about that, we've taken care of it all." His smile reminded Sherlock vaguely of a shark. "What you need to worry about…" His gaze traveled across the Doctor's face, slowly resting on the end of the sonic screwdriver and this staring right at Sherlock through the screen. "...is yourself."
Sherlock stiffened, then shrugged, knowing the game was up and Moriarty, at least, knew he was listening in, and how.
"Exactly," the Master continued, almost giggling in delight. "See, Doctor, I don't know if you remember, but when Jimmy here signed on with me, he really only wanted one thing. Information."
"Specifically, information on Sherlock Holmes." There was no hint of a question in the Doctor's tone.
"Who else?" Moriarty started to pace a slow circle around the room. "You see, Sherlock, I've been watching you for a long time. Longer than you think, I suspect. Building up a network, getting ready to meet you… you know all of that, don't you?"
"Most of it," Sherlock said. Even though he knew Moriarty couldn't hear him, the consulting criminal had paused in his speech, clearly anticipating a response.
"But this is a perfect opportunity to… study you," he leered. "Not an ideal setting, I'll give you that, but enough to learn all we need. Your habits. Your fears." He gaze lingered on the sonic, eyes boring into Sherlock's. "Your pressure points."
"I'm certain you're aware how useful that information can be, Doctor," the Master put in gleefully, delighting in his enemy's discomfort. "So good for manipulation."
"You admit it, then," the Doctor said tightly. "That's the goal here."
"Well, of course!" the Master exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "What else?"
"Then you should know," he answered, his voice measured and dangerous, "that I am not an easy person to manipulate, and people who try usually wish they hadn't."
"Oh, Doctor, we're only just getting started," promised the Master. "See, we've been practicing with those calculations of ours. Updating them. Refining them. Your TARDIS has been very helpful," he added, his smile taking on a malicious edge.
"Incredible machine," Moriarty admitted, shaking his head. "I have clients that would pay millions for just a glimpse of it. They'd destroy each other to touch it." He smiled distantly. "Imagine the price it would fetch on the black market. Maybe once this is over I'll set up an auction-"
"Don't you dare," the Doctor spat.
Sherlock rubbed his eyes as the picture shook - the Doctor's hands were trembling. "So much for not revealing pressure points," he muttered, irritated. Not for the first time he wished he could have been on-scene - but in a situation with such high and mysterious stakes, every second, every word was crucial, and he knew how much he could miss in the time it took to find his ally. It was for the best, but it didn't stop him from shifting irritably in an armchair that wasn't his, itching to get out.
"It put up a fight, that box of yours," the Master said airily, though Sherlock could see he was watching the Doctor with an eagle eye. "But we broke its spirit in the end." He laughed at the Doctor's expression. "Oh, look at you, Doctor. So angry. So wounded. And yet so helpless. Just the way we want you." Beaming at his adversary, he added, "It's beautiful. Am I right, Jimbo?"
Moriarty's answering smile seemed to Sherlock a bit forced. "And with its help," he continued, "we've gotten control of the cracks perfectly. Down to the exact minute. We can even open them whenever and wherever we want." He grinned cheekily. "What a way to raise some hell."
"Isn't it amazing, Doctor," the Master put in, "how there is no situation the mind can't explain away somehow? No matter how mad, no matter how impossible, there's always a reason, always a story."
"Of course," the Doctor answered warily. "Every situation has a series of events leading up to it, it's only logical."
"But what if the events themselves are completely beyond logic? Maybe so far as unbelievable?" The Master smiled. "As long as you believe it, then I suppose it's fine. Unless, of course, a simpler, more believable explanation comes along…"
"What are you trying to say?" the Doctor asked suspiciously.
"Look at where you are, Doctor," the Master said smoothly. "Jumping through a crack in time and space. By all accounts, the fact that you're alive is a miracle. And that you managed to find Sherlock?" He shook his head pityingly. "That would be enough to make anyone doubt."
"But it's true!" said the Doctor hotly. "My friends trust me, and-"
"Ah, yes. Your friends," Moriarty sneered. "Such a nice little group. I'm amazed Sherlock hasn't killed any of you yet, I really am."
"Speaking of, where are your friends?" the Master asked, peering around. "Clara, or John, or… What was the other one? Lily?"
"Rose," the Doctor corrected him tightly.
"Rose, of course. Don't you usually have at least one tagging along? Or have they deserted you already?"
The Doctor remained silent, much to the pair's amusement. You've said plenty more than you meant to already, he told himself firmly. Don't give anything away.
"Not with you, and I bet not with Sherlock either. You're not telling me you've left them alone?" Moriarty shook his head. "I'm almost disappointed. You know the trouble little people like that get into."
The Doctor's grip on the sonic tightened, causing the feed to crackle on Sherlock's screen. He hated the wondering, the inactivity. "Come on, Sherlock," he murmured. "This one's on you."
With a flutter of nervous anticipation, Sherlock grabbed for his mobile, eyes never once leaving the scene before him. He dialed John's number with practiced fingers, then waited impatiently as it rang once, twice, three times.
"Hello, this is John Watson. I can't make it to the phone just now, so-"
Sherlock threw the phone into the opposite armchair, silencing the recorded message. "Where are you, John?" he muttered, rubbing his temples.
"What have you done to my friends?" the Doctor demanded, knowing as he said it how empty the words were.
Moriarty chuckled. "Nothing so sinister as you're thinking, I'm sure," he reassured them. "Just… whispers. Ideas. A suggestion slipped in at a time of doubt, a worry exposed and fed, discontent and distrust pulled to the front of the mind until it can't be ignored any longer."
"You've always said you believe in your friends above all else, Doctor," the Master said. "What happens if they don't believe in you?"
A.N: And on that sinister note, we end. The plan begins to be revealed, and maybe some of you have glimpsed it, but I promise you, you have no idea of what's in store. My malicious streak is definitely coming out, so enjoy it.
I am sorry about the delay - finals are stressful and too many geniuses in a scene taps my creative juices rather faster than normal, but it's here. Also, for some reason the formatting went nuts earlier today. I think I've gotten everything back to the way it was, but if you see any random letters or anything, do let me know so I can fix it.
Beyond that, thank you again for being the dedicated readers you are. We're pretty dang close to 1,000 views, which is a nice milestone I'll be delighted to reach. Also, for my long-time readers (or interested new ones), Mystery Girl recently hit 18k views, which is insane. Thank you to anyone who's read that too! Much love to you all.
-Forever the Optimist