The Doctor's hand clamped down tighter on the back of the Master's neck, instinctively responding to his attempt at physical retreat and preventing it with a soft snarl from the back of his throat. You wanted them gone, stop fighting me and help.
Everything he had, every scrap of energy, strength, and thought was centered firmly on those drums, and making them stop. Doing what the Master had wanted. Twisting around his brain to do it,. Everything.