Hi everyone! I'm back again with a new chapter! Sorry it took awhile, life got in the way. Anyway here it is! Hope the chapter title gave you all a bit of incentive to read... Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I once again do not own Sherlock. *draws sad face on wall and shoots it*

One week later Molly is in a cab to the airport for her long flight to Australia. She has two suitcases full of clothes and other necessities. Molly also has a backpack for the plane. Her cat, Toby, is staying with Mrs. Hudson since she really doesn't know when she'll be back.

As the cab pulls up to the airport entrance it is around 5:30 in the morning. She pays the cabbie once he gets her bag out of the trunk.

"I hope you have a nice flight ma'am," he says perkily as he slides back into his car and leaves Molly surrounded by a cloud of exhaust.

"So do I," she whispers as she puts the backpack on and begins to drag her heavy bags into the airport.

OoOo

After an hour and a half of passing security, Molly collapses into a hard plastic chair. Her feet ache and her eyelids feel like lead. She can smell the coffee and pastries from the bakery down a few stores and feels her stomach growl. Molly lets it rumble once more before getting out her wallet to go buy a bit of breakfast. She shuffles over to the store and waits in line behind an older man and his wife. How she wishes that someday she would have that life. Someone to grow old with, a few children, and a house instead of a flat. She is brought roughly out of her daydreaming by an angry teenage girl slumped on the counter asking her for her order.

"Oh, sorry," she mumbles. "I'll take a small cafe au lait and a raspberry bagel."

"Cream cheese?" the teenager asks the question like the condiment had insulted her as she pounds the items into her cash register.

"No, thank you," she says as the girl hands her a receipt and a pen.

The teen turns to a coffee maker and says, "your order will be out in a minute."

While waiting for her order, Molly watches people bustling back and forth, little children crying, people sleeping, and people munching a quick breakfast before their flight.

"Small cafe au lait and a raspberry bagel," the girl shouts while holding up a takeout cup and a little, white paper sack.

"Thanks," Molly sighs, taking the warm liquid and bag from the teen and walks slowly back to her seat where she left her backpack.

She sits heavily down in the chair and sets her drink on a small side table next to her. In the time it took her to get her food, a large family has made itself comfortable in the chairs next to and across from her. The parents, who sit next to each other, look to be in their early forties and all of the children are no older than ten. There are seven children in all, four girls and three boys. Half of the girls are blondes like their mother, the other half dark brunettes like their father. Two of the boys have a head of light brown hair, and the other boy has rich, black hair. Hair like Sherlock's. A messy mop of dark curls. She feels a blush coming to her cheeks as she takes a sip of her coffee. It makes her roll her eyes at herself. Just the sight of black hair makes her want to see him again. Know he's real. Before she can get caught up thinking about Sherlock, her plane starts to board. Her row is called and she gets up, slinging her bag over her shoulder and picking up her garbage, which she throws in a bin on her way into the plane.

Since she booked her ticket late, her seat is in the last row in the plane. It's a window seat which she is pleased about, but that's the only thing about it that she is pleased about. Next to her sits an overweight, middle-aged man who promptly falls into a deep sleep with endless snores that could've moved the plane themselves. Next to him is a young woman with allergies. She coughs and finds it necessary to clear her sinuses every five seconds. It is a about a twenty one hour flight from London to Sydney, and she has a feeling it's going to feel even longer than that. After about half an hour of sitting, the captain finally announces that they will be taking off in five minutes, so everyone needs to shut down their electronic devices. Molly obeys and shuts down her phone and laptop.

Five minutes later, the captain is back on the intercom. Once he is off, she can feel the plane begin to move to the take off pad. The plane's nose starts to push through the air, breaking it apart until it is in the sky. Molly looks out the window and watches as London begins to fade. She can't help but feel a twinge of sadness as the city quickly is gone from view. Molly grew up in London and has never gone anywhere as far as Australia.

"Goodbye," she murmurs while sleep takes over her weary body.

OoOo

Molly wakes up four hours later from a massive snore produced by the man next to her. She decides to get out her laptop and look something up.

She types into the search box: Eric Antonio

There are millions of results that pop up and she knows instantly she won't find him. She never expected too anyway. As she scrolls through the results, though, one image catches her eye. A man with light brown hair and piercing blue eyes. She would know that face from anywhere. That was Sherlock. Molly knows it. It reads his current residence is in Sydney, Australia. She is beyond pleased. It means she is on his trail and, hopefully, that she will find him.

OoOo

A long twenty one hours later, she is walking stiffly off the plane with the other passengers. Her back is killing her, but other than that she is thrilled to be off the plane and in Sydney. She has her bag slung over one shoulder as she passes through security and customs before she finds herself in baggage claim. It takes her about ten minutes to find her two brown suitcases going around the belt. She just manages to grab them off before they take another lap with the other luggage.

When she gets outside the airport, she inhales a breath of fresh air before she drags her bags to the bus that will take her to the hotel where she booked a week in one of the rooms. The bus is very nice, with plush seats and air conditioning since in February it could easily get up to ninety degrees Fahrenheit, though when she left London it was fifty degrees.

It takes only about four minutes minutes before everyone unloads at the hotel. Molly decided to enjoy herself while she stays in Australia, so she stays in the Blue Sydney Taj Hotel. It is blue themed which she likes as she takes her bags into the lobby.

Once she gets her room key and takes the elevator to the third floor she only realizes then what room number reminds her of. It is number 221. She ignores it and slides the plastic key into the slot and pushes open the heavy door with one hand. She sets her bags in the closet and then decides if she is going to find Sherlock, she had better get an early start. Molly flops down on the queen size bed with her laptop goes back to the website she was on before. After looking at it for about twenty minutes she decides to ask somebody how to find a resident. She goes back down to the lobby and waits in line to talk to someone behind the desk.

"Hello, Miss, how can I help you?" a man about her age asks in a perky voice.

"Well I was wondering if you could tell me how I could go about finding someone," she stumbles over her words as she speaks.

"You can find people on Twitter, Facebook, MySpace, or any other social media website. Sorry I'm not much help," he replies with an apologetic smile.

"That's okay. You've actually just given me an idea," Molly says, more to herself than to the man behind the counter.

Molly practically sprints back up to her room and back to the website where she found him first.

Oaks Goldsbourough Apartments Sydney, Australia.

Only eleven minutes from her hotel.

She has found him.

She has finally found him.

OoOo

Fifteen minutes later she is standing in front of his apartment building. She rushes into the large building and up to the front desk.

"Can I please have the room number of Sher- I mean Eric Antonio?" Molly asks quickly, silently berating herself for the near slip-up.

The woman looks suspicious before looking in a book and muttering, "172, second floor."

"Thank you so much," Molly replies before bolting for the elevator.

She is antsy when inside, but manages to compose herself before steps out and makes the long trek down the hall. A gold panel on the black door reads 172 in cursive letters. Molly brings a clenched fist up to the door and knocks as she wonders if what she is doing is right. After a few seconds the blue eyes meet her own and show a look of surprise.

"Hello, Sherlock," Molly says keeping her voice relaxed.

For once in his life, the consulting detective lets his jaw drop.

So here we are again, another end of a chapter. A bit of a cliffy for you to think about over weekend though. Have a nice weekend, review, and see you next week! (Hopefully!)