She levers herself upright in stages, but it's the promise of coffee that keeps her from surrendering and hiding under the blankets again. She used to watch mad Daleks slam themselves into walls, over and over, for days on end - somehow a few of them have migrated into her skull and are repeating their act with great vigor.

Oswin sighs at the state of her rumpled clothing, decides to re-label it as bedhead-chic, and slowly chases after Moriarty and his promise of coffee. That whistling kettle sounds promising.