Sherlock raised the handgun, using his thumb to disable the safety in one smooth motion. “Step aside,” he ordered the other man softly. “I don’t want to shoot you.”
“Sherlock, I am very sorry.” The Doctor replied. “But I can’t.” Sherlock’s eyes widened slightly, but he held the gun steady, raised, his arms rigid.
“You would do this—doom an entire planet, an entire race, which you yourself worked so hard to save, so many times, for this one man?” The detective demanded. “Hardly seems worth the effort, or the morality issues you’re sure to suffer.” He gestured angrily to the blonde-haired form standing frozen behind the Doctor, his wide, feral eyes flickering from face to face.
“Shoot him!” The Master snarled, his body tightening up with the command, his face expectant; eager.
“That man is a monster, and deserves to be destroyed.” His face tensed as the Doctor raised his own old-style pistol, pointing it at him.
“Sherlock, I’m sorry. Really, I am. But you don’t understand what it’s like, being the last of your kind. It can drive a man insane. I’ve had 900 years of it—no more.”
disclaimer: neither of these gifs belong to me