The third modern series of Doctor Who had its flaws—most notably the gross injustices committed by the writers against Martha Jones—but it’s also endlessly enjoyable, with strong performances and the introduction of John Simm as the Master. Its two-part finale is grand and glorious, with high stakes, a deliciously evil villain (though I am still deeply bothered by the choice to make him a domestic abuser—within the realm of genre, evil is fun until the exact point it becomes real), and finally a chance for Martha Jones to shine like the diamond she truly is.
All that said, it also gave us … this.
And a lot of this.
See, in the episodes, the Master ages the Doctor. First, he becomes aged into David-Tennant-wearing-prosthetics.
Then he ages into Dobby.
Martha Jones walks the whole world (which they don’t really explain—does she walk across the ocean? Did Rita from Arrested Development write this storyline?) preaching the good word about the Doctor and through … love? and, like, faith maybe? and also cellphones I think probably? the world saves the Doctor by saying his name and believing really hard. I don’t know. I still don’t really get it. But then he turns into a free elf, er, I mean Tinkerbell, I mean, the ... I don't know. Cellphone Faerie Doctor, I guess.
Back in the golden age of LiveJournal, this was known as Tinkerbell!Jesus Doctor. And it’s truly a fair assessment. But he’s not that powerful. He doesn’t save Jack from this potentially fatal papercut.
So yeah, people like him so much he lives and the Master hates him so much he dies and then Martha says “eff this noise, I’m going to go bang that hot doctor with the nice hair before the show completely forgets about that and pairs me up with Mickey for no discernible reason other than we’re the two black characters” and, we love it, but we can’t fault the Master for his reaction to it all.