Yes, he was lying motionless beneath the console, eyes closed, arms limp, an unmoving hand still gripping the sonic screwdriver for dear life, but he was not asleep. Not at all.
Or so he decided he was going to tell people.
The non-sleep he was in was dreamless, quiet, and about as frustrating and unproductive as the seemingly endless amount of previous days had been. Despite the lack of progress, those who knew him could probably attest to the fact that this was the first moment he'd actually been still since landing in London. It was both welcomed and un-welcomed, welcomed in that it gave him a moment's peace, and un-welcomed in that it had come completely and utterly unbidden.
Then, as quickly as it had come, inside the quiet darkness, there came a light which forced him awake. He sat up, hit his head, and squinted.
"Who turned on the-" Then he grinned. A mad, child-like, long unused grin.
She was working.
He quickly grabbed his communicator (the one he'd never actually used) and as he ran - no, practically danced - around the console, flipping switches, turning on lights, enjoying the feeling of life, he spoke.
"Is this happening to everyone?"