Rory Williams was good at his job, that much he was sure of. He never skipped over the comatose patients like other young nurses he knew; he went to them one by one to make sure their vitals were nominal and their breathing was even. Still, coma patients weren't much for conversation, and he often found his mind wandering. Today, like most days, his thoughts kept snapping back to a loud, red-haired young woman with bright green eyes. 'Like emeralds', he thought. 'No, that's no good. Say that to Amy and she'd laugh. Like grass maybe? No that's wrong.'

He was so lost in his own imagination he almost ran her over. Suddenly there she was, still in her work clothes at noon on a Saturday, grinning at him maniacally.

"Amy?" He asked. "What are you-"

"You remember the Doctor and Rose? From when we were kids?"

"Thin Man and Blonde Woman? Your imaginary friends? I ought to, we went as them for Halloween three times. You said I never had his hair right."

"They're real. I met them. Again."

Rory glanced around carefully. "Amy," he said gently, "I thought you and Dr. Baker worked this out a long time ago. You were just replacing your parents with a magic couple who wanted to find their lost son."

"Sons. They have two. I knew that quack was full of it. 'That's just a key, Amy Dear, it'll never glow.' Well it did. This morning at eight it lit up like a firework and guided me to the house in the country. I found them!"

Rory scratched his head. "Okay, then what did they say?"

Her face fell. "They said 'thank you'. Then they left."

"Just like that?"

She shrugged. "The Doctor said he'd come back for me."

"The last time he said that it took him twelve years to get here," Rory reminded her. "Are you going to wait twelve more years for that key to glow again?"

Amy stood in that defiant way that made him smile. "I might. I will if I have to." Her hand went to pull at the old TARDIS key she kept around her neck, a habit she'd only picked up again this morning.

"Uh, Amy?" Rory gaped at her, shock etched over his features.

"What?"

"It's glowing. It's glowing right now."

Amy pulled the key off her neck. It was shining a dull orange light, nothing like the bright starlight streaming from it earlier that day, but there was light nonetheless. "Oh my God!" She grinned, grabbing his arm. "We have to follow it!"

"Now?" He said, glancing at the clock. "I'm working."

Amy wasn't listening. They were already halfway down hall when she stopped pulling him and stared at the key in her hand.

"It stopped," he said flatly as she turned it over in her hand.

"Maybe...maybe it's just an after effect. Like aftershocks once an earthquake has passed," she muttered.

Amy followed Rory back towards the ward, and the key lit up again. She took experimental steps backwards and forwards, watching the glow grow and shrink.

Rory took the key gently. "It's like a metal detector. It only lights up in here."

They walked down the line of patients as the light grew stronger. It was brightest at the foot of a man's bed, but as they walked on it dimmed. They slowly returned to the bed, taking in the form of the comatose patient lying in it.

"Rory?" She asked. "Who is that?"

"No idea," he shrugged. "He was found like this a few days ago in the street. Only had what was in his pockets, a few pound notes and an old pocketwatch, no ID. No signs of consciousness since, and no one has reported him missing."

Amy took the key back and moved it toward him slowly. A dull light shone on his chest. She moved his hospital gown away and on his skin, hanging from a chain, lay a golden key. It was just like the one in her hand, but obviously newer. The word 'MYCROFT' was engraved on it in a beautiful swirling script, and it glowed as brightly as it's twin.

"How could we have missed that?" Rory frowned.

"I think," she said slowly, "it's hidden. It feels like the house where I found the Doctor and Rose. I knew it was there, they key proved it, I just didn't want to look at it."

"Like it's best not to acknowledge it," Rory agreed, trying to keep his eyes on the key but finding it difficult.

Amy slowly reached her hand out to the key.

The man woke immediately, his hand flying up and catching Amy's the moment she touched the metal. She screamed and punched him in the face, causing him to cry out.

"What did you that for?" He yelled.

"You grabbed me!"

"A perfectly logical reaction to a thief," he said accusingly.

"I'm not a thief!" She yelled back. "What are you doing with that key?"

"What key?"

"The one on your neck! The one you attacked me for!"

The man frowned and his fingers found the key against his skin. "I don't…. I don't know."

"Who are you?"

Mycroft shook his head slowly. "I have no idea. But something bad is going to happen. You must take me to Bayswater. Immediately."

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It was midnight in the hub. After five days of imprisonment in the secret base, they had fallen into a routine. There was a large area full of bunks, slightly uncomfortable ones, but they were definitely better than trying to squeeze onto the couches in the lounge. They would wake up and try to contact the Doctor, work on the frozen computer system, and speculate on what could be happening outside. There was plenty of time to sit and talk, drink coffee, and talk out their situation. It was a peaceful as a dangerous situation could be. Sherlock was going insane.

He glared at the clock for the fiftieth time, willing it to go faster. How could people do this? Time was bad enough in a straight line, but stuck like this? It stood absolutely still! John had insisted he needed to try to sleep tonight as he hadn't for days. He tried to argue the point, reminding John that know that he knew he wasn't human, old human routines like sleep did not apply to him. John didn't agree, he said he always knew when Sherlock skipped nights of sleep because he was always irritable by the third day.

So far the point was moot, because he couldn't sleep anyway. It felt as though the humans around him had been asleep for days now, but the clock insisted it had only been a few hours. He sat up and rubbed his face. What John didn't know wouldn't hurt him. He'd just pretend to have gotten a good night's rest and try not to be grumpy in the morning.

Sherlock crept out of the room and searched for something, anything to do. The medical books John was so fascinated by held very little interest for him; most of the information he knew to be misguided, and even if it wasn't alien biology wasn't something he cared about. He'd thought the texts of alien languages might kill some time, but found to his dismay that he could only see English on the pages; the TARDIS was still translating all foreign languages in his mind. He had no cigarettes and Jack had run out, so he couldn't even distract himself by smoking. He moaned pitifully, trying once more to call his parents to find their number was still unreachable.

There was one interesting thing he could do.

He laid on the exam table at Owen's station, taking a moment to try to think this through. Was he really so intensely bored that he could tell John the secret he'd been harboring about him? He spent what he thought was probably an hour weighing the pros and cons, then checked the clock. It had been seven minutes.

He'd had enough.

Sherlock had the peace of mind to put a strong pot of coffee on and let it brew for a few minutes then snuck off back to the bunks to gently shake John awake.

"John?" He whispered softly. "I need help with something."

John huffed, waking with a sigh and a grimace. Still, he sat up and pulled on his old shoes, letting the detective drag him away from the others' sleeping forms. Sherlock set him down at a small table and quickly made him a cup of coffee, making sure to add the sugars he knew the man preferred.

John muttered out a 'thanks' and sipped at it. "Has the Doctor called back? Should we get Jack?"

"No," he said quickly, wanting to keep Jack Harkness as far away from this as possible. "I just needed to speak with you."

John frowned. "Sherlock, it's three in the morning. Couldn't you have waited until sunrise to bounce ideas off someone?"

"You can't see the sun from down here," Sherlock started to argue, but then quickly changed his tone when he saw the other man's annoyed expression. "I know it's late, sorry. I just wanted to speak alone, before anyone else is awake."

John nodded, seeming to accept this quicker than the other man expected. "Okay. I knew this conversation was coming."

"You did?"

"Yes. This is about your parents."

Sherlock's heart beat faster. He was suddenly very aware of the air surrounding him, of the infernal ticking clock and the steady March of seconds around him. What had he been thinking? This was a delicate subject, and he he'd gone stumbling into like he always did when a situation required decorum. "Well...in a way I suppose it is," he admitted.

"I know you have to say this part, but Mycroft beat you to it last week. You know I'd never tell anyone, right? I understand why you kept this from me for so long, but you don't need to worry. Your family is safe, I know how to keep a secret."

"John that's not-"

"I get it," the man assured him. "If I ever let this slip the people you care about would be in danger. I'm not offended or anything."

"John, I'm in love with you."

There was a pause. John's expression didn't change, but he leaned forward slightly. "Sorry, I didn't hear you."

Sherlock sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You heard me correctly. I apologize. I hope this doesn't change your ability to live in our flat."

John seemed to be frozen. He was staring at the detective, but didn't seem to be actually looking at him. After a long uncomfortable moment, he finally spoke. "Why would you…?"

"Tell you? My mother insisted. She was going to come forward without my consent, and I thought it would be best if you heard it from me. Again, I'm very sorry for the position this puts you in."

John shook his head once. "No, I mean why would you...feel that way?"

Sherlock tilted his head curiously. "I don't understand the question."

"What about me would ever make you…?" he trailed off.

"You're asking...why I love you?" He finally realized. "John, you-"

The familiar screech of the TARDIS echoed through the base.

Sherlock jumped to his feet immediately yelling for Jack and his team. The little blue box appeared not far from them, and the second it was solid the door popped open and a frantic Rose Tyler ran out. Her fear melted into relief when she saw Sherlock, and she ran forward to wrap him in a hug. Sherlock draped an arm around her, but his eyes dropped back on John. The man gave a tight smile, the kind that holds back a thousand things that need to be said, but not here and not now.

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At a small unassuming hotel in Bayswater, a desk worker named David was getting more and more nervous. There had been no mention from his supervisors of a conference or event happening, but the rooms were booking up faster than he'd ever seen them with guests he'd never met before.

What strange guests they were too; mostly soldiers, he gathered, either from their uniforms or the curt way they carried themselves, as though each of them were on a mission. They came to him, checked into their rooms with minimal words, then immediately went to settle in. He wanted to ask one of them what was going on, but they all seemed to be on official business, and he was too intimidated.

Finally one man checked in who did not seem quite so terrifying. He came waltzing in to take the very last room for himself and an elderly man whom he pushed in a wheelchair. He slapped the counter jovially and informed David all rooms were not to be disturbed, and that he'd be needing their meager conference room first thing in the morning.

"Sir, I'm afraid the room will be too small to house all your guests'" he said nervously. "There are larger hotel chains I could direct you towards that I believe could be of more use to you."

"We like our privacy," the man said, sliding a fifty-pound note to him. "Size is not a concern."

"Yes, Sir. What name shall I put the reservation under?"

"Richard Brook," he said, a smile spreading across his face, "and his companion."

"Yes Sir, Mr. Brook." David leaned forward conspiratorially. "May I ask what this meeting is for if it's not too classified?"

Mr. Brook leaned in, glancing at his nametag. "Have you ever been out of the country, David?"

"No, Sir."

He chuckled. "If you'd like to see the world, I'd hurry."