Warnings: this is set during the Year that Never Was, so warnings for the apocalypse. Nothing graphic in this chapter, but it's Moriarty's perspective of the Year, so if it reads as slightly disturbing, it was meant to be that way. Criminal mastermind plotting, and all that.
Disclaimer: I make absolutely no profit from this, this is just for fun and to keep my mind from stressing out over organic chemistry and pre-med-related paraphernalia.
In another life, had he been just a few more degrees unstable, Jim knew that he would have been cackling as he saw cities burn. [For a moment, he thinks that he distantly hears "That's what people DO!"]
As it was, however, all he could do was marvel at the sheer waste that this madman created. [Had he been in that man's shoes, he would have done a far better job, this was wasteful on more than one level, how pathetic.] His network had indicated that the Master was supposed to be more…refined, than what he'd seen so far, with a plan far more elegant in its execution. [Running for Prime Minister and winning was impressive, mind, but what followed was just sloppy all around. Brute force, when he had all that at hand? Getting so much attention, so fast out of the gate? The fool.]
As it was, the main thing that kept his network together was its nature and his genius when he'd created it. Even so, it had shifted dramatically; no one needed 'Dear Jim' as much as they needed food rations, anymore, after all. But he managed.
He was rather amused at the speed at which his network had shifted to other concerns, actually. And, fortunately for everyone, this Martha Jones was interesting.[Figures that he'd meet another interesting person during the end of everything, and not earlier. He'd also been looking into some Sherlock person who'd sounded promising, but. Circumstances changed.] A woman who spread hope like no other, and was charismatic enough to convince all around her not only listen, but help her at the risk to their own safety? Her potential was just gorgeous.
And this Doctor had to rely on her.
If the rumors and stories and legends were true, he didn't have bad taste in who to pick, but Jim still couldn't quite bite back a sneer at how fragile the alien apparently turned out to be. Martha was interesting; pity she had to take care of this mess. [Hopefully, once this was all over, she'd be amendable to joining him. He offered some very appealing benefits to his people, after all. And if she didn't, well. He might bump her up on his list of people to play with. Both sounded equally stimulating, at this point.]
He hadn't had enough time to get a decent network going for Mr. Saxon's men, but what few contacts he did have ensured their mens' Searcher patrols were slightly less…thorough in the weeks Martha was in the area, and turned a blind eye to people telling stories, no matter how fantastical they were. And maybe repeated them, when off-duty and stationed in another camp. His people supplied the researchers and Resistance when they were able to, and got to ground when necessary. [That person he'd started to get interested in, Sherlock Holmes, didn't have the time to play, he was too busy being a researcher, dissecting Toclofane. Pity. He'd sounded like he'd put up a good challenge. But maybe after? But then Martha…Hmm…choices, choices.]
His people were the ones to escort her from Tajikistan to Nepal, and a contact in Moscow ensured that she was in good hands as far as Beijing, even if the local Resistance wasn't aware of it. [Honestly, these ex-military people got so worked up about the strangest of things. The criminal underworld was still influential, and with a shared enemy, it should've been a no-brainer, but no. Fools.] Some of them also had taught her some things along the way; dearest Soichi was a weapons aficionado, and if it hadn't been for that pesky 'dishonorable discharge' on her record [her CO had been just a bit too well-connected, and took her rejection personally] she would have been breathtaking as a demolitions specialist; as it was, she knew her stock inside-out, and had no issue teaching her charge about them as they traversed several hundred kilometers. And he had the sneaking suspicion that one of the ex-KGB muscle had probably taught her how to fight, [because if he remembered correctly, Andrei had a daughter her age, and he'd been stuck in Siberia during a shipment when the world was placed under martial law] but made sure to call Moncerrat to give her a crash course when she arrived, just in case. And Godddard as well; she would be able to provide support from her side of the pond.
Weeks passed, and the day they'd been talking about for nearly a year arrived. Part of Jim didn't want to do it, because he'd lost all respect for Time Lords when he'd found out that they'd sent someone who was barely old enough to buy alcohol as an errand girl, but out of respect for Martha and maybe a touch of desperation [they would not fail, and even if they did, he had several contingency plans in place. They would win, eventually. They had the data, he had the resources, it was impossible for any other outcome. But Martha's way was a more efficient option by far if it worked, might as well try], he did.
And then the world erupted into light.
Jim shook his head, and wondered why a migraine decided to strike now, of all times. He was busy trying to get everything back under control, smoothing feathers and wondering what type of idiot Prime Minister shot one of the most visibly influential men on Earth. He hadn't voted, too busy dealing with matters in Belize, but now he wondered why he hadn't looked into overseeing the way the P.M. election had been rigged. Normally, it would have been less blatant than whatever Saxon had done, but this had been interesting to watch. Until now, anyway.
Now he was even busier than ever, because that fool had just undone several months' worth of bribing and careful maneuvering in the Cabinet, and—! He pressed his thumbs against his temples to alleviate the pressure, and looked towards the excitedly babbling reporter.
On screen, the television showed the huge tear in the sky, followed by a swarm of small silver flying orbs, only to disappear several seconds later. 'It worked,' came the absent thought, an immediately wondered why. Or why the name Martha Jones came to mind. No matter, if it was important, he'd remember; but he did make a memo to look into her. But meanwhile, he was busy.
[When he did, he wondered why he'd been so interested in looking into some medical student, albeit it one with a bright future ahead of her. His curiosity got piqued when his network picked up activity involving UNIT, but he wasn't able to get a file with any of the bits that interested him. And then she dropped back into obscurity, and meanwhile Sherlock Holmes went and made himself interesting, so it was perfectly understandable that he stopped looking into the curious case of one Martha Jones. The strange dreams in the days that followed didn't help, either.]
Author's Notes: I've been messing around a lot plotting how the timelines mesh, and somehow this came out. Consider it a prequel of sorts, helping set the stage for what's going on in the Sherlock side of things, because so far I've been focused on Martha and the Doctor Who side of things. Expect to see a few more of these, because I've been outlining and world-meshing too much for me to not show it to you all, although some [like Moriarty's] are going to be longer than others [like, say, Lestrade's].