A/N:Okay, I have a good reason this time. I fell on my laptop—really. It cracked the whole screen and had to be sent to a repair shop—all of my fanfics were unreachable for weeks it sucked. More to come

Jack was late, and that wasn't right. Sure, he wasn't very late, but as Ianto Jones walked nervously around the main level of the hub the absence of the strange man hung heavily in the air. Gwen was tapping her foot softly, disguising her worried panic as a coffee break. Even Tosh, typing slowly and grumpily at the failing program ahead of her, seemed to slow down as she glanced nervously at the door.

The funny thing about a perception filter is that it works below ground as well as above. As the small slab of pavement lowered down into the center of the hub, not one of the nervous employees even glanced in their direction.

Sherlock snorted, glancing around the room. "They're looking for you, and they still can't see you. No wonder your team needs help, they're pathetic."

"Are we invisible?" John chuckled, staring at his own hands. He was staring in shock at the wide, cavernous halls around him. As usual, he saw a look of complete disinterest on Sherlock's face. Nothing was knew to him, nothing was novel.

"No. Not to anyone who's actually looking. Perception filters only make you want to look away. They can be useful. I've brought home three dead bodies in the last year, you didn't notice."

Ianto was standing quite close to the slab when Jack stepped off and appeared directly in front of him. He jumped, the coffee cup falling from his hands and landing with a harsh thump on the metal floor.

"Jack! I didn't realize you were here."

"I wasn't," Jack said, hopping down to peek at the slow program on Tosh's computer. "I was kidnapped."

"Kidnapped?" Gwen asked, squinting at the two strange men following Jack down to the screens.

"Not by us, PC Cooper," Sherlock sneered at her. "It's good to see you're as clever as ever."

"Do I know you?"

Jack chuckled. "How far are you displaced Sherlock? A week?"

"Two. Your Meter Maid and Coffee Boy came to your rescue by blowing up our flat."

"No, we didn't," Ianto frowned. "Jack, you're covered in sand."

"But they…would have?" John asked. "If Jack had been gone for two weeks?"

"Right," Sherlock nodded at him, smiling slightly. "I imagine Moriarty got bored of waiting and sent them the clue eventually."

"Moriarty is a person?" Jack asked.

Sherlock frowned. "Obviously. What did you think it was?"

"Not a clue," Jack said, turning the screen for him. There were small squiggles running across the screen, flipping and turning as the human made computer struggled with their complexity. John thought they looked a bit like runes, or perhaps the nonsensical letters a small child might try to pass off as a letter. Sherlock was peering at them, his head slightly tilted as brief comprehension crossed his face.

"This is High Gallifreyan," Sherlock mused. "Where did you get this?"

"Yesterday a letter arrived upstairs in our cover store, addressed to 'The Idiots Who Believe Their Base Is a Secret', Care of Jack Harkness. It was one page of these symbols, signed 'Moriarty'. I honestly thought that was some new race of Aliens we hadn't heard of, so we scanned the symbols into this translator. We acquired it from the Raxacoricophalapiturians last year as part of a peace treaty— it's supposed to be able to translate any language in less than an hour. It's been running for twenty-four hours straight, and it hasn't cracked a single letter."

"You might as well stop the program, it'll just overload it. Did you call my father?"

"I tried last night, just before…I can't remember what happened after that."

"Jack," Ianto said again, "why are you covered in sand?"

Jack smiled at him. "I'm okay, really. I wasn't there too long."

John saw something— just for a second—a small look exchanged between Jack and the panicked man behind him. His eyebrows raised for a second, not used to being the one making deductions. He wondered if Sherlock had noticed whatever was between them. Well, obviously, he supposed if he had noticed his flat-mate had already deduced their anniversary, ages, and differences in weight.

"Can you read it, Sherlock?" Jack asked, breaking through John's thoughts.

Sherlock frowned, squinting harder at the squiggles. He sighed in frustration rubbing at his forehead.

"Are you okay?" John asked as Sherlock winced.

"It's like…It's like reading a waterproof book at the bottom of a swimming pool in the sunlight. Technically possible, but really difficult, and it hurts my eyes. Have you tried calling Mycroft? He's more alien than me, he could probably read it better than I can."

"I called him first, he didn't answer."

Sherlock frowned. "And the Doctor didn't answer either?"

Jack shrugged. "That's not so unusual. They might always answer when you boys call, but the rest of the universe isn't so lucky."

Sherlock wasn't paying attention, already searching through the contacts in his mobile. He dialed and waited nearly a full minute, listening to the dull ringing on the other side of the line. No one answered.

"John, dial my parents."

John snorted, "Sherlock, if you can't get ahold of them then I certainly can't—hey!" he objected as Sherlock pulled his phone from his jacket and dialed a long number.

"Never once in my life has my mother not answered a phone call from my number. She was running from a Shifter once, answered me mid-sprint and told me to hold for a minute." He dialed Mycroft's number on his phone. "If they aren't answering, something is either stopping them or the signal."

Mycroft's line rang dully, echoing through the speaker in a suddenly quiet room. They all stared at the device and waited for someone to answer. There was a click as it moved to voicemail. The recording was silent for a moment, the faint sound of someone breathing on the other line. Finally, one voice came over the phone—one sing-song, familiar voice.

"Sherrrrr-looock," Moriarty called from the phone. The beep sounded immediately afterwards, but Sherlock had already tossed his phone to the ground, grabbing the computer screen and staring at it, fighting back against the aching in his skull.

John knew the look on his face, the quiet terror mixed with that sick sense of intellectual curiosity that infuriated him sometimes. "Sherlock," John asked cautiously, "what's going on?"

"Mycroft's in trouble, and my parents are being blocked from us somehow," he growled. "Two weeks—two weeks! How could I not have noticed what was happening right in front of me? God!" he winced, covering his eyes from the screen.

"Can you get any of it?" Ianto asked.

"I don't need advice from the Coffee Boy!" Sherlock snapped.

"Sherlock." Jack warned, calmly.

The younger man sighed, rubbing his face. "I'm sorry. That was Moriarty on Mycroft's voicemail. There's no telling how long he's had him. This message is our only clue. It hurts. It's a short message really. Something like…I see my name in it… time, I recognize that symbol. Raised? Moved? I can't make it out."

"Raised?" Toshiko asked, biting her lip.

"What? Who are you? Stop talking." Sherlock snapped.

"Time's raised…" she continued. "Time's…Up…Sherlock?"

The lights in the hub went out.