A/N:Thank you everyone for your wonderful comments on the first two chapters. Here we are at chapter 3, which I hope you enjoy as much as you did the first 2. Thank you again to Quarto for inspiring this fic and encouraging me to continue it!
Rosie is very conveniently nowhere to be found when Mary finally emerges from their private rooms - but unsurprisingly her mother's two best friends are waiting to ambush her on the terrace. They drag her over to a secluded corner; Janine plonks a bottle of Ouzo and three glasses on the table, fills them, then points to a chair. "Right," she says as Mary grudgingly takes a seat, "out with it. What's with the three blokes you had a blow out with on the docks?"
"I know them," Molly says, staring owl-eyed at Mary. "I mean, not all of them, but I know John and Sherlock, they work with Greg, they come into St. Barts all the time. I didn't know they were good enough friends with Greg for him to invite them-"
"He didn't," Mary says, taking a long sip of her Ouzo. "Rosie did."
Both women give her quizzical looks. Mary sighs; there's no point in hiding things from them, not now. "You know how I told you that Rosie's father and I weren't together and never would be?" They both nod. "Well, what I didn't tell you was that I wasn't actually sure who her father was, that there wasn't just one man in my past...but three."
Molly very slowly lifts her glass and downs her drink in three large gulps. Janine grins and raises her own glass in a salute. "Wicked girl, well done, you! Keepin' a secret like that all these years, from us no less!" She leans forward conspiratorially. "So, dish. Which one's best in bed? I'm betting it's Sherl, although he's so pretty he might be too vain to make sure a girl gets what's comin' to her, if you know what I mean." Her eyes sparkle with delight.
Molly's reaction is a slight blush that might be embarrassment at Janine's brashness, but despite her own (understandable) self-absorption at the moment, Mary immediately realizes the truth of the matter: Sherlock Holmes is the man from back home that Molly's mentioned being interested in. The one she asked out for coffee who instead gave her his order and left her standing there like an idiot. She'd never said who he was, heavily implying it was a coworker, but Mary is an expert at reading between the lines.
Making a mental note to find out if Sherlock really is as clean of the drugs as he claims to be, she turns her mind back to the subject at hand as Molly says, "So Greg didn't invite them, but surely you knew that he worked with them? You've talked to him about being a detective inspector, haven't you?"
"I'd heard of him, yeah, but I had no idea he was Danny's father until he arrived yesterday," Mary admits. "They've only recently reconciled and I thought Danny was Australian by birth." Serves her right for not investigating his past, but she'd promised Rosie, which in retrospect had been a Really Bad Idea.
Molly is clearly still trying to come to grips with this revelation. "So they're here because the three of them, at least one of them might be, or is, actually…"
"Rosie's father," Mary confirms glumly. "The little shite sent them invitations on the sly."
"But how did she figure it all out?" Janine asks, taking a vigorous swig of her drink.
Both of her friends are breathless with anticipation; with a sigh, Mary shrugs and takes an equally healthy gulp of her own drink before responding. "I think she swiped an old thumb drive with some very private files on it and made a copy."
Janine's eyebrows rise. "Rosamund Mary Morstan, don't tell me ya made sex tapes?"
Molly looks utterly scandalized; Mary shakes her head. "No, don't be ridiculous, Janine." Slyly she adds, "We both know that's more up your alley" and they both burst into laughter. Molly continues to look scandalized but also faintly relieved that this isn't about to devolve into a fight.
The three women have been friends since Rosie was born, when Molly was still in medical school and Janine was just starting out as a PA to that blackmailing snake Magnussen. (Taking him down had been an absolute pleasure.) They're as different to one another as any three people can be: shy, unassuming Molly who has no idea just how lovely she really is; brash, assertive Janine who knows exactly how lovely she is and lets no one forget it; and herself, Rosamund Mary with the shady past and trust issues and a history of running away when things get emotionally difficult.
Having Rosie put a stop to that personality trait, at least; she'd fallen in love with her daughter the instant Molly placed her in her arms, and would rather cut off her own head than do anything to hurt her perfect little golden-haired girl.
Even after she'd pulled such a despicable stunt as inviting Mary's past to her wedding, putting her mother on the spot and wreaking absolute havoc without a single consideration as to how disastrous a decision it might be.
Mary sighs again. "It's just a sort of video journal I made," she confesses. "Nothing scandalous - except for the part where I talk about the three blokes I slept with in the same month. Christ, I didn't even know Sherlock was, well Sherlock!" she exclaims. "Back then he was still going by his first name, William, and I was going by Rose because…"
Her voice trails off. She'd introduced herself as Rose to the wild, cigarette-smoking, drug-taking young man on the motorbike who'd offered to show her around London, because if Mary hadn't been good enough for John then she damn well wasn't sharing that name with anyone else. She'd had more than a bit of self-loathing at that time; is that something she can share with these two women, her closest friends in all the world, from whom she'd kept so many secrets?
Molly reaches out and lays a gentle hand on her arm. Janine does the same to her hand, squeezing it in encouragement. The mirth has gone from her face; she and Molly are so identical in their concern for her that she surprises them all - herself especially - by bursting into tears and throwing her arms around them. "I'm sorry," she eventually gasps out. "I'm sorry I never told you about them, about David and Sherlock and, and John." She can't help the catch in her voice as she says his name, but hurries on, hoping the others won't notice. "I knew you would never judge me, but I was so busy judging myself I couldn't bear to even think about it, let alone talk about it. And now they're here, they're all here and I'm just so...confused!"
Molly and Janine take turns murmuring soothing words to her, but it's Molly in the end who has the practical advice. "Well, there are such things as DNA tests. Surely the local hospital can run the tests? And if not, then we'll take care of it when we're back in London."
"David's already said he would have gladly submitted to a paternity test," Mary admits, wiping her eyes. "As for Sherlock and, and John, who knows?"
"Oh, don't worry about those two," Molly says with a rather alarming glint in her eyes. "They'll agree - at least, I'm pretty sure I can get Sherlock to agree, just by threatening to revoke his lab privileges!"
Mary offers her a watery smile. "Molly, you're a true friend, d'you know that? I wouldn't blame you if you, well, if you hated me a bit, right now."
Janine glances between them in puzzlement. "Why's that? What aren't you two telling me now?"
Before Mary can find some graceful way to backtrack - how could she have let her suspicions slip like that? - Molly gives her a rueful grin. "Should've known you'd figure it out," she sighs, giving Mary's arm an affectionate squeeze to let her know it's all right. "Mary's figured out I've a bit of a crush on Sherlock," she tells Janine. "He comes swanning into the morgue and the path lab as if he owns the place, causes all sorts of chaos, but he's just so...amazing. He's brilliant, and gorgeous, and his work with the police is absolutely, well, brilliant," she concludes, a deep blush spreading across her cheeks.
"Right so the consulting detective is off limits; from what I've seen of David I'd eat him alive; and John is clearly the one Mary's still head over heels for, so that leaves the yummy father of the groom for me," Janine says cheerfully.
"Sherlock barely knows I exist!" Molly exclaims, red-cheeked, at the same time Mary demands, "What makes you think I'm head over heels for John Watson? He slept with me while he was engaged to another woman, then dumped me!"
Janine raises her hands defensively. "Hey, whoa, ease it up, there you two!" She points one elegantly manicured finger at Molly. "I'm a tart in a tight skirt, Molly Hooper, but I'm no poacher. You saw him first, so he's yours whether he gets his head out of his arse and recognizes what a fabulous catch you are or not. And you," she swivels to face Mary, "if you're not still in love with John then I'm a monkey's uncle! I can see it in your eyes every time you say - or should I say, stumble over - his name."
She lowers her voice confidentially, even though the three women are alone on the hotel terrace. "Admit it, you hope he's Rosie's father, don't you. I mean," she adds, "it's pretty obvious that Tall-Dark-And-Cheekbones isn't, there's no way Rosie wouldn't have inherited that magnificent head of curls! No, it's much more likely to be one of the two blonds, and of the two, well, I think we all know which one you'd prefer to become sudden co-parents with."
Mary finds herself unable to refute her friend's (questionable) logic. Nor does she miss Molly's quiet exhalation of relief at the thought of Sherlock being eliminated from the equation. It would certainly complicate things if the man she's carrying a torch for also happens to be the father of one of her best friends' daughter! "I loved him," she admits quietly as Molly lays her head on her shoulder and tightens her hold into a comforting hug. "I had fun with Sherlock - William - and tried to make it work with David but John…" She lets out a heartfelt sigh. "I thought he was the one, and when he broke my heart I suppose it...it never really mended."
"Tell us about it?" Molly asks gently, and Mary nods, memory pulling her back to those blissful, turbulent days of her youth.
"We met at a disco, of all places…"