From Aleine Skyfire: Christmas during the Hiatus.
...
I sigh as I hang up a small silver bauble on our Christmas tree. My wife, Mary, looks at me, forlorn.
"John- you're thinking of him again, aren't you?"
"I can't help it, Mary!" I protest. "Christmas is the time for family and friends- and yet my dearest friend is dead and gone! I...I know he was often opposed to Christmas, but oh- how I'd give anything to hear him grumble about the sentiment of Christmas!"
Mary pauses thoughtfully. "You know, John- I think you should see Mrs Hudson, and keep her company this Christmas."
"But Mary, I couldn't leave you!" I gasp in amazement.
"I know, John. I do miss Mr Holmes dearly, and regard him as a brother, like you do. But Mrs Hudson knew him longer than I, and she has no one to share her Christmas with."
"You are right, my dear. I do feel wicked for saying that." I say, feeling downcast.
"Don't, John- you are entitled to your grief."
"Although, I do not think I can face 221B this year." As Mary is about to protest, however, I continue. "And I am sure she does not want to stay there, either- regardless of company. Why not invite her to spend Christmas with us?"
At first, my wife is speechless, and then she smiles. "Of course, dear- she can stay in the guest room. And I was thinking of inviting some friends to dinner, too."
What sort of friends?"
...
The friends turned out to be the Scotland Yard Inspectors: Lestrade, Hopkins and Gregson all came along with their wives; and some of my beloved wife's friends came calling too. Last, but not least, was dear Mrs Hudson, dressed in black clothes.
"Oh, may God bless you, Doctor and Mrs Watson! I do feel much happier staying here than back at Baker Street, with all my memories. But I promise not to be a burden during my stay."
I am astonished at these words. "Oh, dear Mrs Hudson- you are our guest!" I tell her. "You will never feel like a burden."
"John's right- besides, we do feel awful leaving you there in your grief, Mrs Hudson, and Christmas is meant to be a time of love and friendship."
...
We eat an exquisite Christmas dinner, cooked by Mary- and assisted by the ever tenacious Mrs Hudson-then we all sing a few carols in the living room, led by Hopkins, and afterwards, we decide to go on a walk to the cemetery where my friend was buried, as it was unfair to not do something for him at Christmas- even if he was...gone.
...
So we laid flowers, and we shared stories of the sleuth- good, bad, humorous, disastrous, downright absurd or just...well, stories of the Holmes we all knew and cherished.
I have one memory of Holmes I like to think of, when I'm sleeping or waking.
"...Afghanistan, I presume?"
It was the day we first met. It had been a day which held uncertainty for me, and I am glad. Not just of that day, but every day since. For Sherlock Holmes had existed. He changed my life- regardless of whether I wanted to strangle him or embrace him. I loved that man- he was my dearest and closest companion.
Right now, I only wish I can say sorry for leaving him in his final moments, in a moment of outright stupidity- from not being able to pick up on my friend's art of deduction.