A/N: Thank you everyone for your lovely reviews, and a special thanks to Mouse9 for reading this chapter over for me!
I don't wanna talk
About things we've gone through
Though it's hurting me
Now it's history
I've played all my cards
And that's what you've done too
Nothing more to say
No more ace to play
The winner takes it all
The loser's standing small
Beside the victory
That's her destiny
-Abba, The Winner Takes It All
Earlier That Night
Mary looks at John; John looks at Mary. He fidgets a bit. "You were on your way out, sorry! I'll just…" He steps back, jerks a thumb over his shoulder. "We can talk tomorrow, if that's -"
Mary opens the door wider and steps back inside. "Come in, John, I won't bite." Better to rip the bandage off all at once rather than by slow, painful increments.
He enters slowly, glancing around the sitting room as if just checking out the decor, but Mary sees the way he notes the locations of the two other doors and the windows that lead out to the balcony. The wind blows her curtains; his eyes pause there before settling back on hers. "It's...very nice," he announces.
There's something about the way he's just surveyed her room, the way he still wears his hair militarily short, combined with the way he's standing at a very formal looking parade rest that brings Mary's vague suspicions about him into focus. "You've spent time in the military." It's taking a stab in the dark but she can't help asking, "Afghanistan or Iraq?"
"Afghanistan," he says automatically, then blinks and looks at her - really looks at her this time. "How did you...my blog? No, Sherlock, it was Sherlock, wasn't it."
"Nope, deduced it on my own," she replies, dropping to sit on the settee and gesturing toward the worn armchair directly across the antique trunk she uses as a coffee table. "He's not the only observant person in the world, you know."
He gives her a rueful grin as he sits down. "Not to hear him talk about it." He glances down at his feet, then back at her. "You look good, Mary," he says softly. Fondly, almost.
"What do you want, John?" she asks, cutting off the pleasantries before they can turn into flirting and who knows what else. She knows he can't see how fast her heart is beating and she's glad she's able to keep her breathing as calm and steady as her gaze. "Last we spoke you were yelling at me; nice to see you've calmed down a bit."
He reddens, but not in anger - no, that's pure, unadulterated embarrassment she reads on his face. "Yeah, well, sometimes my temper gets the better of me. Sorry about that. Did, erm, did Rosie-"
"She told me you apologized, and that you wanted us all to get together for dinner tomorrow. She's having brunch with David, since she hasn't had a chance to actually meet him yet," Mary informs him, only a tiny bit spitefully.
He purses his lips but says nothing, only nods. She waits for a beat, then continues, "She seems to have had a very interesting conversation with Sherlock as well. You've all made quite the impression on her. But I should warn you," her innate sense of fair-play prods her to add, "she's probably going to ask you about Sarah."
John flinches, only the littlest bit, then nods. He leans forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped and says, "Right, yeah, can't blame her. I'm sure you have some questions for me too, about Sarah."
Mary shakes her head, confident in her remembered righteous indignation. "What's there to tell, really? Especially now? It's all water under the bridge."
"Maybe," he acknowledges, "but I'd still like to set the record straight."
"What, by telling me how you weren't looking for a summer fling, it was just something that happened?" In a poisonously sweet voice she asks, "Then, what, you felt guilty? So you went trotting back to London, maybe to confess all and throw yourself on your fiancée's mercy, maybe just to feed her a pack of lies before coming back to bed with me…"
John's face has gotten redder and redder, his hands tightening around each other with each word, until he jumps to his feet and bursts out, "I wasn't going to do any of that! I went back to tell my girlfriend - girlfriend, not fiancée, we weren't engaged! - that I'd met someone else, that it was over. To apologize to her and then, when I got back to Brighton, the idea was to tell you everything and throw myself on your mercy!"
Mary's heart sings with joy at this unexpected confession, but only for the briefest of moments. So what if he'd meant to come back to her and tell the truth? That doesn't negate the fact that he lied to her - a lie of omission, true, but still a lie. "You could have told me that before you went back to London," she points out, keeping her voice calm, emotionless, in deliberate counterpoint to his shoutiness. "You could have told me before we had that first official date, or before I let you kiss me, or before we, I dunno, slept together."
Welp, so much for calm and emotionless; her eyes have narrowed, her hands have fisted by her sides, and the last few words come out in a furious hiss.
"Fine!" he growls, throwing his hands in the air. "Fine, you're right, I'm a complete arse, I cocked things up royally! But I tried to make it right, I honestly did. If you'd just stuck around, let me explain and apologize - but no, you had to go running off to - hang on," he interrupts himself. "Where did you meet Sherlock and that twat David? Sherlock told me he was already in London during his twenties, did you follow me there?"
"No!" Mary snaps. "I went to London so I could start my trip to Greece, here, to visit my cousins. But yeah, that's where I met Sherlock. Then I stopped in Paris, and that's where I met David. Then I finally came here, where I found out I was up the duff, but was lucky enough to meet Molly and Janine - and no, I didn't sleep with either of them, sorry, completely different relationship to you three blokes."
She doesn't mean it to be, but her words bring a huff of laughter from John's lips - and, surprisingly enough, she finds herself laughing as well. When she catches her breath, their eyes meet, and she instantly sobers. "Look, John, we both handled things badly. I guess it would have been more mature to wait for you to come back and have this shouting match back then instead of just running off without a word."
"Oh, I wouldn't say you left without a word," John reminds her, but with surprisingly little heat. "Sarah thought it was funny, me losing my mobile again - yes, it had happened a couple of times before, wasn't used to carrying the bloody thing with me till that summer - and told me all about the nice girl who'd promised to turn it in at the Lost Property window at the railway station in Brighton."
"Not my finest moment," Mary admits. "But it seemed the lesser of two evils: if I stole your mobile and it turned out I was wrong, then I could pretend it really had been an accident that the two phones were switched and you'd never know I'd suspected you of lying to me. We could just go on as we had been, and see what the future brought."
"Which was a baby," John said softly. "Maybe - possibly, hopefully - our baby. Guess Molly's going to run the DNA samples at the hospital tomorrow afternoon, at least, that's what Sherlock said." He gives Mary a searching look. "Would you change what you did, if you knew for sure I was Rosie's father?"
"I...might," she says. "But only if this hypothetical do-over included the absolute assurance that you're her father. And before you ask, yes, John, I used protection with David and Sherlock. Condoms, just like you and I used - from the same box, matter of fact."
She doesn't mean it as a barb, but the involuntary jerk of his shoulders tells her it's a hit nonetheless. "John, I wasn't trying to-"
"I know, it's fine, it's all good," he says, even though she can tell he's lying. "Your aunt, did she ever tell you I came looking for you?"
Mary looks at him in surprise. "You did? When?"
"As soon as Sarah told me about the call she'd received from my mobile number, I knew I had to get on the next train to Brighton. I'd planned on staying the night, after working out the best way to break things off with her and then checking in on Harry and my mum, but I just couldn't let you think the worst of me - all right, yes, even though the worst was, not incidentally, also the truth - but I wanted to explain right away."
"Poor Sarah, what did you do, dump her right there at the station?"
"Actually, yeah, I kind of did," John admits, sounding as guilty as if he'd just done it today instead of over twenty years ago. "She called me a few names, told me to go to hell, then stormed off. I haven't seen her since, which is probably just as well. I spent a few hours leaving rather desperate messages for you on my own mobile which, incidentally, no one seemed to have turned in at the Lost Property window -"
"I threw it in the ocean," Mary volunteers.
"Not surprised in the least," he replies with a shake of his head. "So I hotfooted it over to your aunt's hotel only for her to tell me in no uncertain terms just how despicable a human being I was, how badly I'd broken your heart, that you never wanted to see me again, and absolutely refused to tell me where you'd gone. She really never told you any of that?"
Mary shook her head. "Not a word. So. Then what? You know what happened with me: I tried to mend my broken heart twice over and failed rather spectacularly, then ended up here with my brilliant, gorgeous little girl, two new best friends, and a brand new life."
John straightens, perhaps unconsciously resuming his parade rest stance. "Ater moping around a bit, I did what any rational person would have done; marched myself to the nearest army recruiter and signed up on the spot."
"Ah yes, exactly what any rational person would have done," Mary deadpans. "Don't know why I didn't think of doing it myself."
"Fortunately for me they wouldn't take me until I'd finished my medical degree, and after that I probably could have gotten out of it if I'd wanted to, but honestly?" John shakes his head. "I didn't want to. I'd proven I was shit at relationships, so why not get some real life experience under my belt before trying again?"
He falls silent; they just look at one another until he lets out a sigh. "Like I said, Mary, I'm sorry. I wish I'd handled things differently, but it is what it is and I'll just have to accept that. Will you - do you think you could stand having dinner with our sorry arses tomorrow?"
"Yes, actually I do," she replies. "I even think I can put up with your sorry arses for however long you want to be in Rosie's life, no matter how the tests turn out."
There's something in John's eyes; his lips part, but instead of saying whatever it was he'd been going to say, he just shakes his head and turns to leave. As he reaches the door he hesitates, then digs into one of his pockets. He pulls something out, walks back to her, turns her hand up and drops it into her palm. Her fingers curl around it automatically and she realizes it's an old mobile phone.
She looks up at him in astonishment; he smiles softly and nods. "Yeah, it's your old phone. I kept it as a memento of the best thing that ever happened to me - and how I ruined everything by not being honest with you from the start."
Mary stares at the phone, then up at him as he starts to walk through the door. Through the mist of sudden tears she calls out, "John, wait!" and runs to catch him by the arm.
He turns, a question on his face. She throws her arms around him, still clutching the mobile in one hand, and does the last thing she'd expected to ever do with this man again: She kisses him. She kisses him and kisses him and kisses him, until they're forced to pull apart in order to catch their breaths, until they're both flushed and staring wild-eyed at one another.
"I can't believe you kept it all these years," Mary whispers, wiping away an errant tear. When had she started crying, before the kissing or after? During, maybe? She has no idea.
"It was all I had of you," John says simply. "Well, besides some truly incredible memories."
They lean towards one another, but a noise interrupts the tender moment. They both look up in time to see the backside of someone - Danny, Mary realizes - disappearing around the corner. "Oh dear, I wonder how much he saw," she murmurs, touching her fingers to her lips.
John takes her words exactly the wrong way; he stiffens, steps back. "Sorry, didn't mean to embarrass you."
"Oh don't be an arse!" she says crossly. "It's just that I'd rather be the one to tell Rosie that the two of us are thinking about taking up where we left off!"
His face lights up. "Really? Is that what we're thinking about doing?"
She shrugs. "It's what I was thinking about doing, but not if you're going to be so prickly!"
He chuckles and puts his arms back around her, hauling her close. "Are you kidding me? You're the one who got away, Mary, the only woman I've ever truly loved." There's no laughter in his voice now, only raw, naked honesty that takes her breath away. "No one could ever match up to you," he says softly. "So if you'll have me, then yes, I would very much like to take up where we left off, no matter who Rosie's father turns out to be."
This time he starts the kiss, and Mary finds she can do nothing but kiss him back - and pray that the two of them can make it work this time.
End note: Next chapter will feature Sherlock and Molly's talk after that sexy little dance they did together. Will Sherlock end up with his Size Elevens in his mouth? Stay tuned!
