A/N: Thank you everyone for your enthusiastic response to the first chapter! Obviously this isn't going to be following things exactly as they unfolded in Mamma Mia! but I hope you continue to enjoy the story I've come up with. :)


Mary's welcoming smile vanishes as she watches the three newcomers disembark from the launch. Dear. God. She recognizes all of them, but still can't bring herself to believe her eyes.

She's staring at three men she hasn't seen in twenty-one years - no, strike that; twenty years and three days shy of nine months. Is that why Rosie set her own birthday as her wedding date? Was she planning this all along, to invite these particular three men, hoping to discover which one had the biological right to walk her down the aisle? (There's no questioning how she found out about them in the first place; apparently that clever hiding place for the thumb drive holding her mother's video diary wasn't so clever after all.)

There's David Greene, CPA (no, she hasn't kept track, but it's what he was studying for and solid, dependable David was never going to suddenly change his mind and become a card sharp or circus performer or even a solicitor, bless him; he hadn't the imagination for any of that). He's grinning broadly at her with only a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. Standing next to him is Sherlock Holmes, world famous consulting detective (no need to keep track of a man who's regularly in the news), and next to him…

Next to him stands John Hamish Watson, physician and former soldier. The man she once mistakenly believed would be the only man she'd ever love, the only man she'd spend her life with, the only man she'd ever be with. (Have sex with, no need for childish evasions, Rosamund Mary Morstan, she silently chides herself.)

Well, two out of three wasn't bad.

"You weren't expecting us, any of us."

It may not take a deductive genius to figure that out, but he's the one who speaks. John simply nods, as if he expected that to be the case, while David's face falls as she shakes her head. (No surprise there, she hadn't exactly bedded him for his brains.)

"The invitations came from Rosamund, correct? AKA Leto, the 'hidden woman'."

Still Sherlock; that man never did know when to shut up. She takes a (very brief) moment to appreciate her daughter's choice of nom de plume before responding, with an attempt at lightness: "Yeah, Rosie must have sent them out without telling me. She does love her surprises." One look at John's face and the laughter dies in her throat. God, even after all these years that man does things to her. "It's um, it's really good to see you all."

She means it, even though she knows things are about to get extremely awkward; it's obvious that both John and Sherlock have figured out the truth behind Rosie inviting them, but David, poor lamb, is absolutely clueless.

She'd love to leave him that way, but it's far too late for that. Still, with any luck she can manage some sort of damage control before Sherlock puts his foot in it - or John, who is obviously holding himself under tight control, finally loses that famous temper of his. She tries to take David's arm, suggests to all three that they take things somewhere a bit more private but apparently all John needed to trigger him was the sight of her touching another man. Later, she'll feel the tiniest bit happy that he still cares enough for her to react with such ferocious jealousy, but not now.

Not when he's muscled his way between her and David and stands glowering at her. "Are you fucking KIDDING me?" he growls. "You not only threw me over for this wanker, but slept with my best friend as well?"

Oh, that is NOT going to stand! John Hamish Watson does NOT get to act as if he was the innocent babe-in-the-woods taken in by the wicked slag! The Mary Morstan he'd wooed and won and then abandoned was a far cry from the woman she'd grown into since then. "Since you only met Sherlock, what, five years ago? he was hardly your best friend at the time you ditched me in Brighton to run back home to your fiancée!"

An indrawn gasp and murmur from somewhere behind her brings her back to her senses. They're attracting a small crowd - a few dock workers she knows by sight, the crew of the launch, a few tourists she hopes to God aren't wedding guests she hasn't met yet. "Can we please take this somewhere more private?" she says through gritted teeth. They'll be the talk of the entire island within twenty minutes but there's nothing she can do about that now. "Come up to the hotel, all of you, or get back on the damned launch and go home, I don't care which!"

John doesn't answer her but he neither does he stop her when she heads for the hill leading up to her sad little run-down hotel. Fury, humiliation, and disgust lend wings to her feet; she doesn't realize just how quickly she's moving until David, half-jogging to catch her up, reaches for her arm. She yanks it away, in no mood for being reasonable, but slows her furious pace when she hears him panting for breath. The hills, she concedes, are very steep on her island home.

"So, sorry Mary, but I just want to make sure I understand," he says, his voice tentative. "You didn't invite us, your daughter did?" She nods, not looking over at him - but unable to keep her ears from straining to hear if anyone else is following. She thinks she hears at least one set of footsteps but David is still talking so she can't be sure. "And she's - her father is -"

This time when he grabs her arm, she allows him to swing her round so they're facing one another. "Her father is one of you three," Mary tells him in a flat voice. "I slept with all three of you in the span of about two weeks and I have no idea which one of you is Rosie's father. I didn't tell you because I didn't know I was pregnant until after I broke things off with you and left for Greece." She cocks an eyebrow at him. "Happy, now that you know the whole sordid truth?"

To his credit he neither flinches at her cold tone nor backs away when she crowds into his personal space in order to give him a challenging stare. "I'm sure you had your reasons," is all he says, but the hurt shines through when he adds, "although I really wish you'd told me after you found out. We could have had a paternity test done, I'd have been there for you even if it wasn't, even if -"

"Even if one of us was the father?" Sherlock's voice, of course. Mary shakes her head and makes as if to start walking again, but stops when she sees John out of the corner of her eye. He's standing behind her, arms folded across his chest, and she can feel his anger and what she fancies is disgust rolling off him in virtual waves. "Very noble of you, Darcy."

"David!" he interrupts, but of course Sherlock just steamrolls over him.

"Very noble indeed. But if Rose wanted us in her daughter's life, she'd have reached out. So clearly, she did not. I know why she wouldn't want to tell me - I'm hardly father material now, let alone during my drug using days - and it's quite obvious that you were more in love with her than she was with you, another no brainer. But John?" He swings round to face his flatmate with a sneer. "Cheating on your fiancée, stringing Mary along? No wonder she dumped you for me."

The punch is untelegraphed but not unexpected, at least not to Mary; she's always known John had a temper. Apparently time hasn't smoothed off all his rough edges. He catches Sherlock just under the eye, missing the nose by a millimeter only because the taller man manages to duck away in time. David lets out a bleat of shock, grabbing for Mary's arm as if to pull her to safety, but she easily avoids him, instead shoving herself between the two men before it can devolve into a full-on fist fight.

Thankfully they'd reached a spot just outside of town before everything went pear-shaped, but it won't be long before someone chances across them. She shoves, hard, at John's chest, staggering him, and grabs a fistful of Sherlock's collar when he makes as if to lunge at the other man. "Stop it, both of you!" she demands, shaking Sherlock a bit before letting him go. "Look, I'm sorry I didn't tell any of you but frankly I'd had enough of all of you by the time I found out I was pregnant and was determined to raise my baby on my own. Which," she adds, raising her voice just a bit when John seems about to voice some (doubtlessly rude) comment, "I have done quite well, thank you very much.

She glares at each man in turn; David looks abashed, Sherlock haughty, and John mulish. Still, they're listening and that's as much as she can ask at the moment. "Now," she continues, "my hotel is just up that way." She points up the path. "The offer still stands: you can stay or you can leave; you can meet Rosie or contact her at some point in the future if you want to - hell, you can all submit to paternity tests for all I care. But I am going back to my hotel and I am having a drink from a very expensive bottle of whisky I've been saving for a special occasion and, God help me, this occasion is very 'special' indeed."

This time she refuses to slacken her speed, even with David's plaintive "But Mary!" ringing in her ears.

She dashes away a few angry tears as she veers off the main road and onto one of the winding side-paths, one that will get her back home a few precious minutes sooner than her three unwelcome blasts from the past.

She's going to need those minutes for that drink, and to find Rosie so they can have a few words in private about boundaries and privacy but most of all about not meddling in things you know nothing about.