A/N: Once again many thanks to Quarto for inspiration and cheerleading and suggestions, and to all my readers and commenters. You guys rock!
June 1997
Deep (I'm Falling Deeper)* by Ariel is playing, the pounding beat thrumming through her blood and sending a rush of endorphins flooding through her brain. She's just turned nineteen; her gap year has become more of a gap-lifestyle as she explores various options for her future, possibly including uni and possibly building on her experience in the hotel industry. She's gained that experience through painful necessity, having moved in with her aunt after her mum buggered off a few years back.
She's never known her dad or even who he is, but hasn't really missed having a father, truth be told. She certainly doesn't care if she ever does meet the man who broke her mum's heart so badly she's never fully recovered.
Her aunt has A Past that also includes a former husband who's no longer among the living due to his contempt for living life inside the law. Not that either she or Mary are anti-man; in fact, it's due to her encouragement that Mary's out tonight enjoying herself rather than working - not to mention she's the one sending her niece off to Greece for a visit with some distant cousins later in the summer, despite it being their busy season.
"You need to live a little before deciding what to do with your life," she'd said when offering her the time off - well, ordering her to take the time off, more like it. "There's plenty of handsome young lads who can wait tables and change sheets," she tells her niece with a wink and grin. "And you should find one to have a little fun with while you're still young and carefree."
And so here she is, enjoying herself as ordered. She's spent the night dancing with whoever catches her fancy, but there's one bloke she's noticed, sitting at the bar, drinking and watching the crowd on the dance floor. He's not what she'd normally consider her type - very buttoned down, obviously not a dancer, stockily built with a crop of blond hair, almost militarily short - a lad on his way to the army, rather than the uni student she initially pegged him as? No, she decides as she deliberately dances closer to the bar, weaving her way expertly through the thronging crowd. Not an on-leave soldier. Uni student it is.
She's caught his eye; he gives her a flattering once over and a flirty half-grin and she feels a jolt of...something. Infatuation, from a single shared glance? Not hardly, she scoffs to herself, but nevertheless continues making her way to the bar, stopping in front of him but still moving hips and shoulders to the music. "Hi!"
"Hi," he replies, the corners of his (blue) eyes crinkling adorably as he ups the wattage on his smile from 'flirtatious' to 'charming'. "Buy you a drink? I'm John," he adds, and Mary realizes with a shock that yes, immediate infatuation is definitely the cause of the fluttering of her heart and stomach. He isn't much taller than her, she notes abstractedly, and is actually rather more fit than he'd appeared at first glance.
"Mary," she says, shocking herself again by offering him her preferred name rather than her hated first name. True, Mary is simple, boring, ordinary, but it's far better than Rosamund or Rose, as her mother and teachers call her.
Called her, she corrects herself crossly. Mum's run off to the continent and teachers are a thing of her past until and when she decides what she wants to study at uni - if she decides to go at all.
"Mary," John repeats, his charming grin deepening. "A pretty name for a beautiful lady. What'll you have?"
She leans one elbow on the bar, giving him her most flirtatious smile. "Depends on what's on offer," she shoots back, back on surer ground now. There's no way she's letting him - John - know exactly how much he's already affected her. Keep it light, girl, she counsels herself.
She lets him buy her a strawberry daiquiri because she's in the mood for something frothy and sweet, and even coaxes him onto the dance floor. He's a terrible dancer, but not afraid to laugh at himself and when at the end of the night they play something slow he allows her to drag him back out. They sway together, lost in each other's arms, and when he rather sweetly offers to walk her back to her own place she almost says yes.
However, common sense tells her not to let him know where she lives, not after just meeting him, but she does give him a time and place to meet her the next day. Then she dashes out like Cinderella at the ball, leaving him standing alone on the edge of the dance floor.
"What, you didn't even let him kiss you?" Janine interrupts in faux outrage.
"Nope, not till our third date," Mary replies with a wistful smile. "Dinner and a movie, then a stroll along the boardwalk, watching the moon rise…" The wistful smile becomes a wistful sigh. "It was so sodding romantic, and he was on his best, most charming behavior, how could I resist?"
"How long before ya stopped resisting the rest of his charms?" Janine asks with a suggestive waggle of her well-plucked eyebrows.
"Almost a month before I let him get into my knickers," Mary admits with a reminiscent grin. It fades as she thinks back to what happened after that momentous occasion. "He told me he loved me," she says quietly. "I told him I felt the same. And then…"
"I hope you didn't break up with him because he...well, I know he has a bit of a temper," Molly puts in anxiously. "Sherlock said he beat up a chip-and-pin machine once, although I'm pretty sure he was exaggerating for effect." Her doubtful expression belies her words.
"No, nothing like that," Mary rushes to assure her. "He was never violent toward me or any other woman that I know of. I mean, yeah, he did tend to be a bit shouty when frustrated and he wasn't afraid of getting in another bloke's face if they were being an arse, but he never so much as raised his voice to me."
Not until they'd met at the dock only a few short hours ago.
Brushing that ugly incident off as best she could, she dives back into her story. "No, it was a phone call that did it. His family had a vacation house and we were there, the morning after, when his mobile rang…"
1997
Mary rolls over sleepily, fumbling at the bedside table for her mobile. She squints at it, why does the ringtone sound off, and why is it coming from the other side of the - Oh, right, John's mobile is ringing, not hers. She grins and closes her eyes, snuggling back under the light blanket, basking in the afterglow of the most glorious night of her life when reality not only rears its ugly head, it reaches out with claws and fangs and proceeds to rip her heart to shreds.
"H'lo?" she hears John say. He slips quietly from the bed and into the en suite bathroom. "Yeah," he says before quietly closing the door. "Me too."
Mary's eyes fly open and she clutches the blanket as shock washes over her. No, it couldn't be, he wouldn't...maybe she's misreading the situation. It could be his sister or his mother; some guys can't say the words in front of other people no matter who they're saying it to.
So she pretends to still be asleep when he emerges about ten minutes later. He slides back into bed next to her and she stirs as if this action is what wakes her up. "John?"
"Hey," he says, putting his arms around her and planting a soft kiss on her neck just below her ear. "Sorry if the phone woke you, it was, uh, Harry, letting me know there's something...there's a family emergency. I have to head back to London for a couple of days. Would you...would you like to stay here til I get back?" He sounds hesitant, but she allows herself to be reassured by his question; if he wants her to be here when he gets back then the phone call must be exactly what he says it is. They make love for a second time, then she makes them a late breakfast while he takes another call on his mobile.
Another private call. But it's a family emergency, she reasons as she piles the dirty dishes in the sink. Of course he needs some privacy. His mum's a drinker, he's already told her that, and Harry might be a year or two older than him but from what he's shared with her his sister is a bit hopeless when it comes to anything important. Reading between the lines Mary has already sussed out that Harry's turning into as much of a drinker as their mother. So maybe the problem's with her instead?
Either way it's really none of her business she tells herself. He doesn't owe her any explanations; they've only known each other a month and even though he's said those three little words and she's said them back, it doesn't necessarily mean he's ready to spend the rest of his life with her.
On the other hand, he's been so open about his mother's drinking, and free with the hints and worries about Harry, that she can't help but feel as if he's deliberately hiding something from her.
She tries to keep her suspicions in check, but can't help noticing the furtive way he glances back at her before muttering another "me too" into his mobile and moving into the next room.
She's got a rental car, nothing fancy, but he accepts her offer to drive him to the train station with a smile and a kiss. She isn't proud of herself for this, but she manages to bump into him as he boards his train, 'accidentally' knocking his mobile out of his hand and substituting it for hers. He slips it into his jacket pocket without looking, kisses her goodbye, and then he's off to London and whoever 'me too' might be.
Mary waits until the train has pulled out, when it's too late for him to try to retrieve his mobile if he's discovered the switch, then walks back to her car and stares at his phone for a long moment before finally hitting 1471 to redial the last number called.
A woman's voice answers; her heart pounding in her chest, Mary asks, "Who's this?"
"Sarah, who's this?" the woman answers. "And why do you have John Watson's mobile?" She lets out a laugh. "Let me guess, he dropped it again. He's always losing the bloody thing, I told him, after we get married you'll have to let me carry it for you!"
Married. After we get married.
The words ring in her ear, drowning out whatever else the other woman, Sarah, is saying. Not only does John sodding Watson have another girlfriend, he's got himself a fiancée! She says something about leaving the phone at the lost and found office, then hits the "end" button and drops the mobile onto the empty passenger seat.
She doesn't really remember much of the drive or even deciding where to go, but isn't really surprised when she ends up at the boardwalk. Exiting the car she scoops up John's mobile, holding it in one hand as she numbly makes her way past the crowds of holidaymakers to a relatively quiet spot.
She leans on the rail and stares out at the ocean, wondering why she isn't crying. It's because she's furious, she decides, much more angry than hurt "Fuck you, John Hamish Watson," she says, then hurls his mobile into the ocean, not bothering to see if it sinks or not.
She's done with caring about anything to do with him.
Present Time
"Oh that bastard."
Molly's expression is sympathetic, but Janine's - like her words - is full of righteous fury. "He strung you along for a month, until you slept with him, then buggered off back to London and his sweetheart? Then has the nerve to show up here, now?! Did he bring the wife and kiddies along too, to rub in your face, show you the life he stole from you?"
"Well obviously he never married her, or if he did, it didn't last," Molly is quick to point out. "I mean, he's living with Sherlock now - no, I don't mean living living with him!" Her cheeks are crimson, her eyes a bit panicky, but she ploughs on. "I mean, yes, there's lots of gossip and speculation in the tabloids, but John tells anyone who'll listen he's not gay, he always has loads of girlfr...uh, he goes on dates. With women." Her blush deepens, impossible though it seems. "Sherlock is always complaining - uh, saying," she corrects herself. "Not because he's jealous or anything, at least, I don't think that's it. I think it's more…"
"It's because John is insufferable when he's seeing anyone romantically," a deep, baritone voice cuts in, and all three women look up in surprise - well, not Mary; she knew he'd be the first one to seek her out.
"Hello, Sherlock," she says, breaking from the embrace of her friends in order to lean on the table and look up at him with a bright, artificial smile. "Please, fill us in on how insufferable John Watson is."