Sherlock Holmes, world's only consulting detective, had been away from London, virtually incommunicado, for more than three weeks. Having brought the investigation to a satisfactory conclusion, he returned to his flat at 221B Baker Street with expectations of a good meal provided by his landlady, Mrs. Hudson, and a long sleep in his comfortable bed. He had not expected to be met with the news that a cataclysm was about to shatter his rather tenuously constructed world. This event required an immediate visit to the flat of his pathologist, one Dr. Molly Hooper.

He burst through the door of the flat which Molly had, rather conveniently, left unlocked, to find her sitting cross-legged on the floor of her almost empty sitting room, feeding scraps of food to a purring tabby cat, and watching telly. Molly almost jumped out of her skin when he shouted as he entered, "Why the bloody hell wasn't I informed of this turn of events sooner?"

"Well, evidently, you've been informed now. Who told you? It couldn't have been John or Mary, as they don't know as yet."

"I should hope not. I should not like the idea that my closest friends should keep something of this magnitude from me…"

"It's not that big a deal, Sherlock. So who told you?"

"Deduce it, Molly!"

"Not Mike Stamford. I trust Mike. Meena wouldn't know how to get in touch with you…"

"This Meena person knows?"

"Of course she does. She's one of my closest friends!"

"I thought John and Mary were close friends, Molly?" He shouted once more, and continued, "You didn't tell them!"

"They're also close friends of yours, Mr. Genius Detective! As is Mrs. Hudson! So, no, I haven't told them yet. I needed time to prepare…"

"Who else knows, Molly? Who else have you told before me?" The detective was now pacing the room angrily.

"Greg…"

"Who the hell is 'Greg'?"

"Greg Lestrade, you arrogant prat! You'll probably forget my name, too!"

Having heard that last remark, and the anger and sadness contained in the words, Sherlock stopped pacing to look down at the woman still on the floor.

"Australia, Molly? Really?" He heaved a sigh, and almost collapsed onto the floor next to her. "Why would you want to move to the Land Down Under? From a land on top?"

But Molly ignored him. "It was Mycroft, wasn't it? Bloody 'British Government' knows everything!"

Molly Hooper looked at him, narrowing her gaze, but he continued, ignoring the comment about his brother. He knew that he owed him for having been informed of her imminent departure, but didn't like to think about what it could cost him. Whatever it did, it was certainly worth it. "Did you know that two-thirds of the land mass of planet Earth is in the Northern Hemisphere, Molly? Even ignorant continents, with no intelligence of which to speak, prefer this hemisphere! What can Australia offer you which England does not?"

"Kangaroos?" Molly tried going for some humor to lighten the mood.

"Precisely! Giant rat like things which can hop! How appealing!" Sherlock hated the idea of losing this argument. "And, evidently, they have been known to wear boxing gloves, and engage in pugilistic endeavors…"

"Sherlock, seriously, I have a wonderful job offer at a research facility in Sydney…"

"There are giant man-eating, and, might I add, woman-eating, crocodiles down there, Molly. Have you considered that?"

"There are no giant crocodiles in downtown Sydney, where I will be working and living, Sherlock!"

"How about in the sewers, Molly. Have they checked them? If those monsters can live in the sewers of New York…"

"Sherlock!"

"Molly, they have an entire grouping of animals who can't decide if they want to be mammals, or not! They lay eggs, Molly. Imagine the confusion for the Easter Bunny!"

"Sherlock, get real! Besides, they have koalas. They're kinda cute, don't you think?"

"Well, I too, would be 'kinda cute' if I had no concerns in the world to give me worry lines, Dr. Hooper. Did you know those little buggers sleep eighteen hours a day? And even when they do wake up, they really don't have to do anything but reach out and grab some eucalyptus leaves from the tree they live in. No wonder they're endangered. They're too lazy to even reproduce!"

"You're not one to talk about reproduction, Mr. Holmes!"

"Why is that, Dr. Hooper? Because, at the ripe old age of thirty-eight, I have not yet chosen to inflict my genes on another generation?"

"Your genes are just fine, Sherlock. I don't think we can blame your parents for your personality defects…" Molly was getting more and more hot under the collar. She had hoped to avoid this confrontation, but, in her heart, she knew she couldn't. Sherlock Holmes, selfish git that he was, was bound to take the news that the only pathologist who would work with him was defecting to the other side of the world rather badly. But she had hoped that they could have a civilized discussion, rather than this irrational rant on which he had embarked.

"You think I have personality defects, Molly?"

"Only surface ones, Sherlock. You tend to be selfish, rude, arrogant. I know you can be kind, generous, and caring, but the main flaw in your character is seeing that as a defect. You can be cruel. Sometimes you mean it, sometimes it's simply carelessness. But you're a good man, Sherlock Holmes, whether you, or anybody else, sees it."

"Then why are you going to Australia, Molly?" Sherlock looked at her, serious for the briefest moment, but then his defenses fell back into place. "Sydney isn't that far from Tasmania, is it? What about Tasmanian devils? Or Tasmanian tigers? They may still exist, you know. The jury is still out on that one…"

"Sherlock, stop it!"

"Alright, alright! I know it's a great advancement for your career, but you could have discussed it with me. Australia, eh?" Sherlock folded his hands in front of his chin, assuming his thinking position. "There are twenty million people in Australia. And Sydney is the largest city, after all. There must be some crime, and an incompetent police force. That goes without saying…"

"Sherlock, what are you thinking…"

"I'm thinking the move may not be so terrible, after all. The weather in Sydney is not so different from London. They get a lot more rain, though. And it never snows! I suppose I shall miss the occasional white winter day…"

"Sherlock Holmes, stop it right now!"

"Stop what, Molly. I'm merely pointing out that we could be very happy in Australia, despite their overabundance of rabbits, and plagues of mice. And sharks, Molly! Have I mentioned the killer sharks?"

"Sherlock Holmes, you are not going to the other side of the word with me!"

"Whyever not, Molly. Certainly, if I'm willing to give up my life in London…"

"You're acting as if we were a couple, Sherlock!"

"A couple of what, Dr. Hooper? Do try to be more specific," the detective said with a smile.

"Don't play dumb with me, Sherlock Holmes. If there is anything you are not, it is dumb! And we are not a couple. Never have been. Never will be…"

"Well, certainly not, if I were to let you go to Australia by yourself, Molly."

"Sherlock, unless the logic of the situation has completely escaped you, it must have occurred to you that I am moving down under because you're up here!. I need to get away. I need to start over…"

"Fine! We'll start over in Australia!"

"Please, Sherlock, let me go! I want a fresh start, a home, a family…"

"I didn't realize you were ready to settle down, Molly, but…"

"How can you say that, you git. You've known for ages I wanted those things. I got engaged to Tom, for god's sake…"

"Who?"

"Meatdagger!"

"A very poor choice, if I must say. Didn't take much to run him off, did it"

"Only the fact that he finally realized that I was in love with another man, you git. Even meatdagger couldn't take that!" Sherlock smiled when she used his very own epithet for the man, and Molly blushed when she it dawned on her that she had done so. This was not going the way she had wanted, and tears began to cloud her eyes.

"Molly, I think that we should deal with this situation logically. You want to settle down and have a home and family. You are in love with me, have been for ages. But, for some reason, you seem to feel I am not suitable…

"Sherlock…" Molly sniffed, the tears becoming more and more obvious.

"Hush! So you have decided to move to the other side of the world. I, in turn, while also agreeing that I am probably not suitable, have come to the conclusion that I will not let you go anywhere without me. It seems my decision to follow you has rendered your decision to move a moot point. So, I think we can save the expense and inconvenience of such a move, don't you agree?"

"Perhaps." Molly was now dabbing at her eyes. She still hadn't fully grasped his intentions, but she knew she now seemed to be permanently stuck with the infuriating man. "But, Sherlock, I have no job. I've given up my flat. I'm not practicing yoga positions sitting on a bare floor in my empty sitting room, you know! I've disposed of most of my furniture, except for a few family pieces…"

"There's room for them at Baker Street, Molly. And I'm sure Mike Stamford will give you your job back. You're the best pathologist they have. No worries."

Molly Hooper was finally beginning to grasp the enormity of the situation, and what she was giving up. But it was certainly worth it, considering what Sherlock seemed to be offering. Seeing the tears still gathering in her eyes, the detective scooted closer to her on the floor, finally wrapping one arm around her shoulder as he surveyed the room. "No couch, I notice, Molly. How about the bed. Is it gone, too?"

Molly nodded and wiped her eyes once again as she replied, 'Yeah. I gave it, and almost everything else, to a shelter for women. They picked it up this afternoon. I have a sleeping bag…"

"That just won't do, Dr. Hooper. Grab the bloody cat, and let's go home." The tall man rose from the floor, and reached out his hand to pull her to her feet. But he didn't stop there, pulling her into his arms, and holding her close. "Do try to look on the bright side of all of this, Molly. There are, after all, no dingos in London to eat our babies!" And then the tall man bent to kiss the most important person in his life for the first, but certainly far from the last, time.