Prompt: Christmas crackers (the fireworks) from Michael JG Meathook

The marital state was frequently, among some fellows I knew, thought of as a restrictive affair, but I found this to be an utter falsehood.

I suspected, at least, that this was mostly due to my choice of partner, though I expect every man feels as such. Yet Mary was in every way the most perfect woman I could have found, and I could not imagine sharing my life with anyone else. She and I shared much in our values and hopes for the future, in our enjoyments and dislikes, and in our temperaments. We were indeed well suited. Furthermore, I found Mary to be accomplished and intelligent, with an inner strength that led her to confront any challenge with aplomb, and above all, the kindest soul I had ever met.

This was evident one day, some months after Sherlock Holmes's tragic death at the Reichenbach Falls. Since that day, I had gone out little in society, preferring to stay at home with Mary. One cold night, whilst we were busy at our cozy fireside, she with some needlework and I with a medical journal, she put down her needle and thread and looked up at me.

"John," Mary asked. "What do those children that helped Mr. Holmes do now that he is gone?"

I regretted that I had not thought of the Baker Street Irregulars until that moment, in my grief, and I felt a flush of shame creep up my cheeks. It was so like Mary to remember, though she had only seen them once, while we happened to be visiting Holmes quickly while they came to report. Mary was quite surprised at the army of little street children who invaded Holmes's first floor rooms on that occasion, though they seemed equally surprised at her presence, several of them turning red in embarrassment at their rough street ways. Yet Mary was patient and kind with them, and soon had the littlest boys laughing at her finger games. I remember thinking then that she would be an excellent mother someday.

"I am not sure," I said. "Holmes always provided a Christmas dinner for them that Mrs. Hudson became quite fond of making every year. He presented them each with shoes or gloves or other items of clothing they might have needed as a gift." It was curious that Holmes, so aloof and bohemian that he had little patience for his fellow man, had been surprisingly adept at working with children. It is true that his conversation tended more toward poisons than the average child should hear, but he treated them with a respect I am sad to say they probably experienced nowhere else in London. "I sometimes read to them from Mr. Dickens' Christmas Carol," I added. "Or I told a story of my own." The Irregulars were largely decent children who had simply had a bad start in life, and as Holmes's associate I had made it my business to try to help them when possible. I realized what a loss they had sustained with Holmes's death and felt ashamed of myself again for not seeing to them in my friend's sudden absence from their lives. "I am sure no one does any of that for them anymore," I said.

"I thought as much," Mary said. "Those poor children, losing their benefactor so suddenly. We ought to do something for them, shouldn't we?"

"Yes," I said. "We ought to have done something already, only…" I trailed off. Even talking about Holmes as much as we had today was painful.

Mary smiled and took my hand. "I understand, John. Leave it to me. I will ask of you only one thing."

"What is that?"

"Find them, and let them know to come here on the 23 of December."

This proved harder than I anticipated. London's street children were adept at being unnoticed and disappearing when trouble raised its head, a frequent occurrence. Those who had been Baker Street Irregulars were harder to find than most, as they had been trained by Holmes to remain unseen as they tailed someone. But a few lucky encounters and a visit to Mrs. Hudson allowed me to find them and inform them of the date. All seemed happy to see me, and I confess I was no less gratified to see them again.

The small party Mary had organized was hardly a lavish affair; the food was simply more of what we would have eaten ourselves, and with no set start time, the children had begun arriving two hours before we were ready. A group made up of Roger, Simon and Melinda was soon arguing over something by our fire, while the others sat around the table sniffing the air as the smells of cooking wafted up from the kitchen.

"It's nearly ready!" Mary said, entering with a plate piled high not of food, but Christmas crackers. "Dinner will be ready in a few moments but first, let's crack these open!"

The children all cheered and ran forward to receive their Christmas crackers before running back to their seats with their treasures. The air was soon full of popping noises as they each pulled the crackers apart, revealing a small gift, and a paper hat apiece.

Of course they each put on the paper hats, which resembled crowns, and grinned at each other, refusing to them them off (though occasionally fighting over who had the better color of hat). Soon they were equally absorbed in studying their new toys.

"What did you get?" Melinda asked the boy next to her, absently playing with the wind-up monkey that had been in her cracker.

"Soldiers!" He cried, lining up a set of tiny metal British soldiers.

"I got a little ball!" Simon cried, promptly letting the ball fall, where it bounced so high it moved the chandelier slightly. "Oops," he added. "Sorry, Doctor."

"Imagine if they made a giant Christmas cracker!" One of the other boys, Tommy, who Holmes had thought would take over for Wiggins someday, said. "And they pulled it…imagine what could be inside!"

"Or you'd get blown up from the noise," Melinda said.

"I don't think that could happen," little Simon said. "Could it, Doctor?"

"No, I don't think so," I said. "Especially with such a small cracker as that!"

"Or, I know, what if there were fireworks inside and they blew up when you opened it?" Tommy asked.

I allowed a small chuckle to escape me as I thought of it. "I'm afraid that is quite a fire danger, among other things," I said. "Now, I do hope none of you filled up on candy, as dinner is coming." The cook was bringing it as we spoke, and I set to carving it. It was gratifying to see the Irregulars so happy; as I found them, I heard what they had been doing, and Mary had been right. The Irregulars had indeed fallen on some hard times since Holmes's death, and certainly looked so.

"Thank you, Doctor Watson, Mrs. Watson," Wiggins, now a lanky boy of fourteen, said between bites of goose. "We haven't had much like this since Mr. Holmes…well, thank you."

"It is just some Christmas crackers and dinner," I said. "Though you are welcome anyway. Please let me know if any of you need anything. I am at your service."

"I suspect you'll need him to take the paper crowns off their heads!" Mary said. She was watching the children, where even at table, each was wearing one.

I waved a hand. "Let them be kings - or queens," I added to Melinda, who smiled. "Let them be royalty for a day," I finished. "We all ought to live as fully as we are able." Would Holmes have thought that he had done so? I was not sure. I only knew that I missed him dreadfully, especially knowing that it was the first holiday without him.

"John," Mary said. "You skipped one." She held out a Christmas cracker, wrapped in red paper, to me. I took one side and pulled, and we both laughed as the firework popped. I looked around at the Irregulars, who were all watching me expectantly until I finally picked up the paper crown that had exploded out of the cracker and put it on.

"I did not get little miniature soldiers for yours," Mary said, handing me a slip of paper. "Here, read it."

The slip of paper was a poem, which I will not repeat here. Only suffice it to say that it contained a declaration of love and a promise to love forever, until the end of life or beyond.

"Thank you," I said to Mary, somewhat thickly. "I do not know what I would have done without you these past few months."