Moriarty: The Master, huh? What exactly are you “master” of? Bleached hair? Stupidity? Certain not of style. Nice…pajamas.
The Master: Nice suit.
Moriarty: Westwood.
The Master: Oh, I’m sure it’ll look great in your coffin.
Moriarty: Nah. I’ll die sometime. But eeny, meeny, miny, moe…oh! Looks like today’s your turn. Time’s up, Time Lor -
The Master: Shhhh. Shut it, you naive, human toddler. I’m hearing it, all my life I’ve been hearing it. But now, right this instant, it’s getting louder, the sound of -
*The Bee Gees’ Stayin’ Alive rings out from Moriarty’s pocket*