AN: As promised, here's part 2 of the two-part story(Again). There's going to be mentions of blood and death and such, per usual, but that's to be expected of a mystery story, I suppose. Surprised you guys liked it; I wasn't sure how warmly I was going to be received after the buzz of the holidays died down, so for y'all to like it, I'm grateful. Thank you. :)

Italics at the beginning is from 'The Five Orange Pips.' I will reference copiously, and often, as usual. I do not have the space to list them all, though. Mostly heavily based on 'The Dancing Men' and the story mentioned above.

Prompts are the same as Chapter 8, but with an addition!

From Book girl fan: Silver Bells

Frostbitten

Sherlock Holmes's POV

"That hurts my pride, Watson. It is a very petty feeling, no doubt, but it hurts my pride. It becomes a personal matter with me now, and, if God sends me health, I shall set my hand upon this gang. That he should come to me for help, and that I should send him away to his death—!"

I tried never to get attached. To remain as in my element as possible, I needed the mental capacity to make decisions that others would shirk away from in favor of their emotions. Logicians needed to remain impartial. Facts over feelings, I would reason. As much as I put up a front, there were instances where I became more attached to a case, a person, than I would generally allow.

The case of John Openshaw comes to mind when I sit here at the Biltmore Estate in one of their arm-chairs, eyes half-closed as Watson and I awaited the arrival of Elias Delancey, our client, and one of the many targets created in a scheme that I still had yet to deduce what they aimed for. In that, I realized I was not immune to patterns that triggered within me deep emotions I knew I only felt once.

The fact that both men should be so young and encounter death…! It had shaken me deeply.

As Watson recounted in his journal last night, this had indeed become a personal matter to me, as petty as it was. Had I not reacted faster, Watson and I would have had to visit Conductor Delancey's wife to explain why he wasn't coming home.

"Holmes?" Watson's voice cut into my attention, as I glanced over at my companion on the arm-chair, who had exerted all his energy despite his old war wounds. "Are you quite alright?" Asked he, and I couldn't help but admire his observational prowess, far from its timid origins.

But what could I say? I didn't want to seem as though I was slipping or losing my touch. Watson, at the very least, deserves my honesty. I mused before shifting my full attention to him.

"This has become a personal matter to me, my dear Watson," I admitted, feeling the familiar twitch of my jaw in agitation upon thinking of the consequences. "That we should be so close to our trial to convict Abe Slaney, and this scheme arose during our time here, I do not want this to end in another failure." My voice lowered at the end of my confession to avoid anyone overhearing us.

"It won't, my dear Holmes," Watson said softly, reaching over to clasp my fingers with his. "With us two, and Conductor Delancey aiding us, we'll solve this." Said he. I gave his hand a return clasp before letting go to resume my thinking.

I needed to thank Watson more for his unshakeable faith in me. In my black moods, it was hard to find what I needed to snap out of it outside of a case, or, as much as I loathed admitting it—Watson's help. Before I could, though, a group of about ten streamed through the door of the Biltmore Estate at Delancey's heels, whispering anxiously among themselves.

They knew something was amiss.

To my interest, one of those people in the group was a police officer, glancing around the Estate as if he were still on duty elsewhere at this very moment.

"Mr. Holmes, I've brought them, just as you asked!" Said the conductor as he interrupted my observations, as he escorted a young woman on his side. His wife, I wager, by the way he's looking at her as if she were the only thing in the world. There was a sort of sweet yet haggard nature to her, having not slept well in a while due to a broken hip, which verified Delancey's desire to seek out someone for aid.

"I trust no one has followed you that wasn't invited?" I asked as Delancey nodded, his excitable spirit coming back out into the threshold.

"Made sure of it, Mr. Holmes! And there's someone I'd like you to meet; this is my wife, Martha Delancey." The conductor introduced, as his wife limped forwards. Watson leaned towards her at her approach, his eyes round with worry.

"Was the journey here alright for you, Mrs. Delancey?" Watson asked, his fingers twitching as if he were back in his practice in London, itching to treat her and ease her pain. Always the kindest heart.

"Thank you for your concern, but I'm alright, Doctor Watson, and oh—! You're Sherlock Holmes!" She exclaimed, a smile splitting her face. "It's really nice to meet you, sir. I've heard all about you, well, from Doctor Watson's stories. They're the only thing that keeps me company while Elias is doing his job." She said.

I could not help but feel a mixture of amusement and a slight twinge of sympathy for her predicament and her uncanny similarities to her husband. It would help to have someone as much of an open book as he was. "At your service," I said, giving her a slight bow.

"Why, thank you, Mr. Holmes. Elias has filled me in on what's been going on here, so I'm up to speed." Mrs. Delancey said, after curtsying in response to the bow.

"You know, I did not fathom that my stories would get popular here." Watson mused, shifting in his arm-chair to peer into the crowd. "How many of you read them?" Asked he.

That got my attention. It stood to reason that there was an allure to Watson's dramatic license of our cases that I failed to grasp, I mused, watching five hands go upwards at the mention of reading our cases. If they know my methods, then they'll think they can deceive me.

More than one of them had their hands in this scheme, and if they were as similar to English criminals, I would catch them sooner rather than later.

Watson seemed to flush under the thought that multiple people besides those within the London area would read his stories, and I failed to hide a brief, amused smile. It was like watching myself when he praised my work. "Quite a number, friend Watson," I said.

"Hold on a moment, then, enough with the nonsense about reading!" The sharp voice of Frank Carter sounded through the group as the man shouldered his way forwards. "What's this have to do with why Elias brought us all here? He said somethin' about the ice bein' unnatural, that can't be right!" Said he. "Inspector Davis here didn't find nothin' of the sort!"

"Elias is indeed right, Mr. Carter," I said, raising my voice so that the crowd could hear me. "The ice is unnatural." The group balked at that, quieting down from the bickering amongst themselves that Frank Carter had induced.

"If you want, Mr. Holmes, I can tell you what happened to me, if that helps explain it?" Martha Delancey piped up before I could suggest it. Perhaps I'll need a different way to gather the data I need to prevent this deception, I thought as I glanced at Watson.

"If you would be so kind, my dear fellow?" I asked. As I had perceived, as soon as Watson retrieved his notebook from his coat, the group surrounded our chairs with all eyes trained on Martha Delancey, eager to see our work.

She noticed this outright, her gaze flicking warily around the crowd as if she had seen our foes at all sides rather than people. It was a common occurrence, one I was not sure I ever felt, but I knew all too well.

"Do not fret, Mrs. Delancey, you can talk to us," Watson reassured her softly, as I gently took her by the hand in a gesture I often hoped was comforting to my clients when they came into my lodgings.

"Be as clear and concise with the details so that we may continue to shed light on this case," I said. The young woman gave a small nod, taking in a shaky breath as she peeled her gaze from the crowd towards us.

"I was on my way to the Estate, three days ago, on foot. I had made it a point to walk here, and I assumed that I could keep going, even when the ice started." Said she, her other hand silently roaming towards her right hip to cradle it.

"I always go before dawn, which might sound foolish, Mr. Holmes, but there's a dreadful amount of work to be done here for the Vanderbilts, and I wanted to get started early. It was about ten yards from the electric railway when my feet suddenly gave way from underneath me while I was walking, and—" She cut off, letting out a dry, audible swallow. "I hit the ice so hard I thought I would surely be much worse off than what I am now. Perhaps, dead, even."

I leaned back in my arm-chair, steeping my fingers in front of me as my mind began working through the information that Martha Delancey had presented me. Given what Conductor Delancey had observed about the area, it is not without reason to deduce that these villains were actively around her when the accident occurred. The ice would have been fresh.

"Did you perhaps see anyone nearby when you fell?" I asked, briefly allowing myself to look at the crowd round us.

"No, Mr. Holmes, the only people around came after, which were the police that had been stationed in the area before Elias had said something. They said they heard me scream for help." Came the response.

At once, I caught a faint flicker of guilt lacing through Inspector Davis's face. While one could say that this was the perpetrator, he was only one of the group. He had a role to play in this scheme, but I was certain he was not the one pulling the strings. Had it been as simple as just him, this case would be open and shut in record time. I would have to return to him later, though.

This leaves me not entirely devoid of interest, indeed.

"And you were seen by a Doctor shortly after?" Watson inquired, as I allowed him to take the lead in questioning. Simultaneously, my attention went to sorting through my tumultuous emotions surrounding the case threatening to seep out of my mind.

"That's the thing, though. I don't remember terribly much after falling and crying for help; there's been a bit of a gap in what I can recall between that and waking up at my lodgings." Said she.

"Actually, I can tell you that, Martha, dear." The older woman at her elbow piped up, offering her a reassuring smile. "See, the kind officers carried you to Doctor Everett's office, passing by me and my shop. I'm afraid you don't remember because they said you were completely unconscious, even when they took you to your lodgings." She explained.

"Thank you, Beatrice, though I'm honestly ashamed that I wasn't of much help there, Mr. Holmes. You probably take me to be a fool, out on my own on such treacherous conditions when I know better." Martha Delancey muttered, hanging her head.

If she had told me this earlier in my career, I would have agreed with her. However, I had partial thanks to give to the woman, as now I saw no such fault in her actions. "No, no!" I said, sitting forwards to soothe her. "I don't take you to be a fool; there are some things that any one man or woman can not control, unconscious being one of them."

But there lay the question. What happened during that missing time? I felt the familiar itch to spring out of my seat to investigate, to find this missing thread to complete the nets to ensnare our schemers, and yet, I knew precisely what was holding me from doing so.

I glanced over at Watson, scanning his form over as I knew him to still be nursing his aching war wounds from the cold. He returned my gaze, an unspoken question in his eyes. I was painfully aware that he could not say no when I offered an adventure, but this was one I did not want him to risk his vitality for.

Neither did I want him to stay, lest he become a target as well.

"Will you be alright if I go off to investigate the scene, my dear Watson?" I asked, lowering my voice so that only Watson and Elias Delancey could overhear. That part was easy, as past the heady pulse that was still thrumming through my palms from my usual ministrations, my voice quavered with concern.

"I'll keep an eye on him, Mr. Holmes; you can count on me." Conductor Delancey whispered as Watson gave a low chuckle, offering a small smile.

"I have survived the war in Afghanistan, and more at your side, Holmes, I should be fine." Said he, as he glanced over his shoulder at the group. "I hope you don't mind if I talk to this Doctor Everett fellow while you're gone, though, to see what I can gather about the situation."

"Capital idea, friend Watson, I shall return shortly!" I said, allowing my voice to rise slightly to keep up my temporary cover. I tugged my coat closer to my body, not before giving Watson a brief smile over my shoulder as I rose to dash out into the snow.

I can always rely on Watson to be an illuminator to my reasoning.

Watson's POV

About two hours after Holmes left to investigate the scene, I got to work in getting into contact with Doctor Everett, the fellow who Mrs. Wilson had claimed to have treated Mrs. Delancey after her fall, which was easier than expected—he often worked nearby the Estate. I had a personal stake in the matter now, out of concern for Mrs. Delancey. No doctor that I knew of would still keep their patient unconscious unless it was the necessary procedure.

Something seems sinister enough.

I had to keep my growing worry under control when the very doctor made his appearance, grinning as if he were a cat that had consumed a bird. "Well, Beatrice, darling, you didn't say there was someone else looking for my town-renowned help." Said he, as I glanced out of the corner of my eye at the old woman who helped me find him. "That's because I didn't say anything of the sort, Doctor Everett." She sniffed before leaving the room in a huff.

This doctor was a particular sort, one that lit my ire—a fame seeker, I recognized with the way he was reviled.

Even so, I steadied myself from the growing anger, gesturing to the chair that Holmes had been perched in. "I believe it is a different sort of help, my dear fellow. It involves your treatment of Martha Delancey." I said.

Doctor Everett quirked an eyebrow upwards, flopping himself into the arm-chair with a sudden thud that echoed through the almost empty room, save us three. "What about Mrs. Delancey? She's alive, isn't she?" Came the sneered response.

It would have been a piquant thing to show my bullpup, then and there at his callousness. "Yes, but I want to know what happened when you were treating her." I managed to grit out, resisting the urge as Conductor Delancey gripped my shoulder, feeling the same agitation as I did.

Doctor Everett seemed to have the decency to fall into silence at that, the prideful look on his face turning to one of compliance. "It's a Doctor thing, good man, but the officers had brought her from outside of the Estate to my offices, and I gave her medicine for the pain, that's it." Said he with a languid shrug. "The only thing that I can't do is guess whether or not she can walk without assistance again."

My mind briefly spun as I tried to put together the events that Doctor Everett laid bare before me, as I had done on Dartmoor some years ago. Holmes had been correct that the ice had been fresh, but who had laid such misery?

That is something I can not tell. I thought after trying to ascertain a solution to no avail, feeling fear prickle through my bullpup. For as much bravado as I showed, I could not help but feel a flash of utter helplessness towards solving the situation at hand.

There is, however, something I can do.

"Why did you keep her unconscious?" I asked after a while, pulling myself out of my stupor. Conductor Delancey grunted his assent, leaning forwards into Doctor Everett's face from where he stood.

"And for the love of everything, why in the world did you not inform me earlier that my wife had nearly died?" He hissed. The earlier slow, prideful smirk crawled its way back onto Doctor Everett's face at our reactions, which he so clearly craved.

"You're always busy, Elias. Can't have a train derail by telling you your wife fell, after all." Said he with an air of condescension. "You've never been terribly bright in that regard, Elias, so if you ask me, I was doing you a favor, for you and your—whoever this is who thinks he knows better than me!" He crowed.

As I allowed myself to briefly glance behind me, Elias Delancey was looking rightfully furious, worrying his lip between his teeth. "You dare?" He growled, the sound hollow in his throat.

"I'm sticking to it." Doctor Everett said firmly as I stood up with some thunderous force, my aches be damned.

"I am Doctor Watson, dear fellow. Though clearly, a Doctor with more heart than you can quite muster, as you care more about what glory saving lives gives you, rather than telling a client what's occurred, you—you self-centered sod!" I hissed lowly, inwardly surprised at the cold venom that I had brought forth.

However, it did not matter at that moment. I would not stand to witness this doctor insult the conductor over his wife's condition any longer.

Doctor Everett fell into a stunned silence at my outburst, gaping quietly at me, and I felt my bullpup ebb at his silence. Continuing my temper will do me no good now, I chided myself before glancing at Conductor Delancey.

His face was a mixture of awe and concern as he cleared his throat. "While the insult may be warranted, Doctor Watson, I think we're out of time." Said he, his voice trembling slightly, as we both noticed the silver bell looped around the door waggling wildly as it was wrenched open with a sudden slam.

In strode Frank Carter behind the bell clattering to the floor, with the group that had been summoned by Delancey to come here. "You better have a good explanation for why you're keeping us in the dark, Doctor Watson. Where's Mr. Holmes? And why won't you tell us what's going on?" He demanded a scowl fixed on his face.

"He'll be back soon," I said, glancing among the group. "And then we will all get answers," I reassured, although that seemed to not be enough for Mr. Carter, who stepped inches away from me. Doctor Everett, who seemed to regain his sense of time and place around him, scrambled from his chair, giving us two a wide berth.

"I think you're hiding something, Doctor Watson, and if I have to get it out of you, I will." Frank Carter seethed, his voice thrumming with danger. I took a brief step back, trying to put distance between us.

"Mr. Carter, stop it! Doctor Watson's been trying to help!" Beatrice Wilson protested as he whipped his head around, glaring at the old woman.

"Really? He saved my son, sure, but he's hiding more than he's helping." Frank Carter snorted. Before he could perhaps use his force to get what he wanted out of me, another side door that Conductor Delancey informed me that the guests used slammed open, revealing another officer, raising his eyebrow at the sudden confrontation.

"What seems to be the problem, gentlemen?" Asked he, striding to stand in between us. Inwardly, I was grateful for his coming in between us, but I couldn't help but feel the same prickle of irritation that Holmes had for them. Now he shows up?

"This man refuses to let us know what he has discovered!" Hissed Frank Carter, jabbing a finger towards my face behind the officer. "This involves all of us, and all he'll say is that the ice is unnatural!"

"And? From where I stand, he is not required to share anything with you. Do take your finger out of his face before I have half a mind to arrest you." The officer said sharply, as Frank Carter lowered his hand, grumbling something about 'incompetents.' I dared to not want to know what was on his mind now.

"As for you, Doctor Watson, I'll need you to come with me. Your friend, Mr. Holmes, is expecting you." The officer added, as Martha Delancey, who had been in the group, pushed her way forwards on her limping gait.

"Elias should go with you too; I'll keep an eye on them all." She said, her slender, willowy height allowing her to look Frank Carter in the eye. "Is that alright with you, Frank, since clearly you think you speak for us all?" Asked she.

I hid a snort of amusement at Martha Delancey's spirit, which seemed to be the one thing Frank Carter had not accounted for, as he grits his teeth with a sudden clack. "Fine." He said from between his teeth. "Go. But I will get my answers, one way or another, Doctor Watson."

I was thankful for the opportunity to leave the hostility that had been building, not just from Frank Carter, but the growing tension that threatened to snap like my own amongst the others. Still, I shivered against the cold that threatened to seep in through my coat.

Elias Delancey walked beside me, offering infrequent glances towards my limping stride. I can last without being treated like glass! I had wanted to say, my bullpup threatening to come to the surface again as we followed behind the officer. And yet, as much as I wanted to snap, I could not bring myself to. The young conductor indeed did nothing to earn the scorn I had shown Doctor Everett earlier.

"Excuse me, sir?" Delancey called over the snow, which whipped past our heads with a sudden howl. "Where are we going? And where's Mr. Holmes?"

The officer turned round, and at once, I groaned into my gloved palm once I saw the all too familiar, logical, grey eyes boring into us from under the policeman's hat. "Conductor Delancey—" I said before removing my mouth from my palm.

Holmes seemed to catch on, almost instantly shedding his policeman's uniform, tucking it under a nearby bush with his usual touch of the dramatic, a smirk across his wind-bitten cheeks.

"My dear fellow, I was the officer this entire time." He chuckled, finishing the sentence. Even if I felt shamefully hostile towards his disguise as an officer earlier, I daresay I was more impressed with the fact that he had strode in sounding as if he were born in Asheville!

"I thought Doctor Watson was exaggerating your disguises, Mr. Holmes, but I'm pleased to see I was wrong," Delancey remarked. "I should have perhaps known it was you, though; no one would have the guts to stand up to Frank Carter when he's angry like that."

I stopped briefly upon Delancey's comment, a flood of emotions swirling through my heart and mind at the realization that my friend had stepped in to stop Frank Carter from attacking me. It was a gesture I had not expected to see after Tobias Hess's case since he abhorred showing such outward emotion.

"Holmes, you were willing to do that?" I asked, my voice low. He knew what my unspoken words meant, as I had often been told I was easy to examine by my friend.

Holmes gave a quiet shrug to my questioning, flicking his gaze to look at me straight-on. "I am lost without my Boswell." Said he simply. I felt a flush creep across my cheeks at that, momentarily swept back to 'A Scandal in Bohemia.' Sometimes, I've wondered if he truly meant it. And perhaps, now, he does.

Elias Delancey let out a small cough, drawing our attention to the conductor and sharply back to the case at hand, dissolving the quiet sentiment between us.

"Well, I don't mean to interrupt you both, but you didn't answer my question, Mr. Holmes; where are we going?" Delancey asked sheepishly, squinting through the snow that continued picking up around us.

"The French Broad River! It's where the solution lies, as well as one of the only officers that seemed to muster enough interest in the case to deliver the criminals to." Holmes said as I raised an eyebrow, setting off in the snow beside my friend and Delancey once more.

"Now Holmes, how the devil did you get your hands on a police uniform? And the accent?" I asked.

Holmes let out a bark of laughter as he led us over a bank of snow, dropping down on the other side like the hound he was. "In my art, my dear Watson, having the voice to match the disguise is what keeps the façade together. As for the uniform, I met a gentleman in the Asheville Police who was more than willing to assist me in this matter."

The idea of being near a river while in dangerously cold weather was never something I looked forward to doing, as it often brought with it the risks of hypothermia. Though, I suppose if I could jump into the snow from the Diogenes Club window, I could go along with this as well.

"You got a hold of Inspector Louis, eh? That man's willing to cooperate with any scheme if it means bringing someone to justice." Delancey chimed in as we arrived alongside the frozen river not soon after.

I peered over the white landscape, almost instantly noticing a tuft of copper-colored hair poking out from the side of a steep snowdrift. "Is that Inspector Louis?" I inquired, pointing to the hair and earning a snort of laughter from Holmes and Delancey.

"That's him, alright. Can't keep that bright head of his hidden for nothing, not even under the hats." Delancey remarked as Holmes rubbed his hands together eagerly.

"Our trap is set." Said he before leading us closer towards the river. "We three will lie in wait on the river, and when they come, we shall reveal the truth."

I felt as if my blood would turn to ice at Holmes's comment. "On the river? Holmes, surely you can't mean that literally?" I asked. Instead, Holmes did not reply with words, parting the bushes around the snowy beach, revealing a lanky detective shaped scoop within the snow.

He meant it literally, indeed.

"I can stand to be cold for a little longer," Delancey muttered as he lowered himself into the scoop, hunkering down into the scoop until I could only see his bright green eyes blinking above the snow at me.

I followed in reluctantly beside Delancey, hunkering clumsily against the cramped space at his side. Holmes joined us not soon after, drawing the bushes over our heads to cast us into darkness.

It was a most peculiar feeling, in this position that I was. I thought I could feel Delancey's pulse pounding against my ribcage, perfectly in time with Holmes's steadier heartbeat and particular warmth I had grown used to in our time together, especially when in hiding.

I could hear nothing in our hiding spot, apart from the occasional shift from the Inspector nearby and Holmes adjusting the leaves above our heads. As much as I loathed to admit it, it would surely drive me mad if we remained here longer.

"Holmes? How do you know they'll come?" I asked, keeping my voice at a whisper as I shivered at the gust of wind that swept into our cover.

"They are so desperate to cover their tracks, friend Watson. They shall do anything, even something as reckless as revealing themselves." Answered he, leaning against my side for the sake of warmth.

I had often wondered if Holmes had a touch of Dupin in him, with the way he could at times know precisely what events would happen before they occurred, and what happened next was one of those times. I did not know how long had passed when I began hearing footsteps crunch over the snow towards the river. Those two are more alike in name and deed.

"They should be here somewhere, Frank, you didn't scare them off." A voice carried over the wind towards us, the snow groaning beneath their weight. I frowned as soon as I recognized a second voice, which let out a sigh.

"This is what you get, dear, for wanting to go after everything with force." Said Helen Carter, as Holmes tapped me on the shoulder.

"We must come out in complete silence. Do not let them know we were here this entire time." He whispered, pushing the branches aside so we could come out of our hiding spot.

I crawled out first, turning back over to pull Delancey out behind me, with Holmes following behind. My friend drew a thin, gloved finger to his lips, gesturing for us to keep low and follow the river towards the others.

It was an easy enough task, one I had gotten dreadfully used to in my time in the service. We three pressed into the snow, pulling ourselves along with our forearms and palms. I hissed inwardly at the cold searing through me, even through my gloves, casting my attention towards the approaching conversations to distract myself.

"I don't trust them, Helen, those stories that Doctor Watson wrote make sense about them being tricky." Came Frank Carter's voice, as irritated as it had been for the entire day.

"Well, that's on you then, dear, because I, for one, am worried about them. It's a dreadfully cold day, and I'd hate to see them get hurt." Helen Carter sighed, tutting in disapproval at his attitude.

"I agree with Helen, Frank, and besides, they're here to solve this for us." Mrs. Wilson cut in towards the end of the snow. We ducked at her approach as she stood above us, looking out over the river. "Knowing Mr. Holmes, he has a solution."

Holmes pulled himself across the snow faster, crawling up and behind a tree to look as though he were just wandering in. "Indeed I do, my dear lady; I was just coming to tell you." Said he, his voice casually cheerful for someone who had purposefully buried himself in the snow.

"Well, out with it, Mr. Holmes! Why you'd think with everything going on, there would be a murder or something right under our noses." Frank Carter demanded as Holmes's gaze met mine from my flat position in the snow.

"There was already a murder, Mr. Carter." He said, his voice dropping all pretense of cheerfulness, his attitude keenly analytical once more.

"Murder? My goodness! Who was it, Mr. Holmes?" Helen Carter asked, turning on the spot to look round her. Holmes scoffed at her actions, his weight shifting above our heads as he turned to face her fully.

"I will say this about you, Mrs. Carter, you are a dreadfully good actor in the game of your own making." Said he.

"Game? Mr. Holmes, I-I don't understand. What are you talking about?" The woman stammered, "You think I murdered someone?" Her voice rose to a higher pitch, perhaps looking for support within those round her.

"Think? I know you committed a murder, Mrs. Carter. It's only a matter of whether you wish for you or I to lay the sequence of events bare before us all." Came Holmes's firm, cold response. He then raised his voice, "Friend Watson, Conductor Delancey, if you would be so kind as to brush the snow off of the river where you are?"

I allowed myself to glance over the crest of the snow to observe what was happening entirely above our heads. Frank Carter was positively ruddy in the face, muttering under his breath. At the same time, Mrs. Wilson and Helen Carter were accompanied by Inspector Davis, who murmured quiet reassurances I could not quite hear.

"Right here?" Delancey cut into my thoughts as he crawled out onto the ice as Holmes had instructed, keeping his weight spread out.

"I'd say that's right." I agreed, sliding myself out onto the ice from the snow. The groan that it gave beneath my weight set my teeth on edge, as I briefly saw flashes of suddenly plummeting through the ice to meet the deadly depths that flowed underneath.

I can do this. I reasoned, moreso out of an attempt to do something that would shed light on this mystery. After I gave Delancey a brief nod of readiness, together, we brushed the snow covering the frozen French Broad River.

There are many things in my adventures with Sherlock Holmes I do believe I shall never forget. As soon as the snow parted, I recoiled back at the sight that burned its way into my mind. Staring blankly up at us was the frozen form of a man, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle. His face was frozen in a pleading, wordless scream, hands rigid to the surface of the ice in a digging motion.

"Good heavens, he was trying to claw his way out!" I called out to Holmes, who slid down the snow to join us.

"Indeed, my dear Watson. He was alive when he was pushed into the water, about ten paces to our left. The fellow did not even realize he had no chance of escaping with a broken neck." He explained as he glanced back up at those above us.

"I don't believe any of us knew that he was out here." Inspector Davis murmured, pushing his way past Helen and Frank Carter to join us. The Carters could do no more than stare blankly down at the broken form beneath the ice, with neither of them saying a word for a brief moment.

"That's Doctor Everett's old mentor, Doctor Montague, my word!" Mrs. Wilson stammered after a while, glancing at Helen Carter. "I haven't seen him since—he talked to you three weeks ago." She said, taking a step backward from the woman.

"Please, tell us the truth, dear, did you kill Doctor Montague?" The old woman urged gently.

"I don't know what you're talking about; it's a trick! I didn't do anything!" Helen protested as she stepped towards Holmes. "If you're so adamant, explain what I've done." She demanded.

"Very well," Holmes said, his voice as cold as the environment around us. "Since you are so keen on avoiding the truth."

"You had another son, one who was injured so grievously that he could no longer walk. You tried to have him treated by Doctor Montague, who could not save your son. When you figured that out, you pushed him into the French Broad River behind us, killing him. However, you are a high-standing lady here in this town, so you needed to cover your tracks. You devised a scheme where you would create stories about your neighbors, anything to get them under your thumb and their curiosities away from your crime."

At Holmes's declaration, Delancey slowly rose to his feet on the ice, his expression one of sheer horror at the situation unfolding before him. "You blackmailed people into doing that, Helen?" He asked softly.

"Including your wife, her husband, and many others around her, conductor. Though when Martha Delancey realized Helen Carter was intent on eliminating you for getting too close to the truth, she backed out." Holmes said softly, placing a hand on his elbow. "You do not need to worry about her wrongdoing." Said he.

"It's why I did not do anything prior for Elias as well." Inspector Davis spoke up once more, his gaze downcast. "Helen had targeted me in her schemes to ice over the town, without my knowledge of what had happened."

"How does that explain why she went after Martha Delancey?" I asked, my bullpup reawakening my anger at the revelation at what this woman had done to hide her murderous ways. The audacity to blackmail almost an entire town, including an Inspector!

"Every scheme needs someone unfortunate enough to take the fall. Helen Carter assumed it would be terribly easy to pin the responsibility on the one person brave enough to back out." Holmes explained. "While Martha Delancey did not die, she thought ruining you by injuring your wife would prevent you from investigating any further."

Delancey froze, his expression unreadable. "And she did not count on my meeting with Inspector Davis to do something more." Said he.

"Capital observation, Conductor—" Holmes was cut off as a sharp, bird-like cackle sounded from Helen Carter, as she strode forwards, dropping all of her previous air of confusion to the matter.

"It's so hard to get good help these days." Said she, her eyes wildly darting round her. "If Martha wasn't so much of a coward and just did what she was told, she wouldn't have had a broken hip. Could have killed you too, if Holmes hadn't stepped in to interfere, even if I thought I fooled him."

Holmes fixed Helen Carter with a hard stare as we two moved as one in front of Conductor Delancey if she tried to kill him as she did Doctor Montague. "It is my business to know things to not be fooled. The game is over, Helen Carter; there shall be no more violence." Said he.

"We won't let you kill another." I agreed, my voice low and heady with anger. "Dragging all of these people into your crime, and for what?"

"To get that blasted Doctor Everett! He doesn't even care that my son can't walk by his mentor's hands!" Helen Carter hissed. "Elias was too close to knowing that I wanted to ruin that quack! All I wanted was a future for my boy, where he isn't wasting away at home! It's all their fault."

"No." Elias Delancey stepped out from behind us off of the ice, refusing her in the eye. "I know the accident, Helen; it wasn't anyone's fault. He was trying to help Beatrice get the snow off of her roof, and he fell. I grabbed him and took him to Doctor Montague." Said he, his voice thick with maudlin anger.

"You're lying, Elias! You're lying! If you cared, you'd be on my side!" Helen Carter snapped, trembling in anger. "All of you were against me on taking my revenge, so I did what I must, and it was so terribly easy to convince the others to join me."

Beatrice Wilson's face was a mess of partially frozen tears as she nodded in agreement with the conductor. "It was an accident, Helen, one no one could have stopped. Doctor Montague and Doctor Everett didn't ruin your son's future." She said, helping us and Inspector Davis escort the Carters towards where Inspector Louis lay.

"It has always been on your hands." Holmes declared, finishing Mrs. Wilson's sentiment.

Sherlock Holmes's POV

By the time that night had fallen over the town of Asheville, North Carolina, Watson and I found ourselves back on a train once more to Illinois after the ice had been melted with wood ash. Handing Helen Carter over to Inspector Louis was a task that I must admit that I took some personal relief in, that she should no longer blackmail her neighbors in some piquant cover up.

And the pattern of my clients dying under my care has ceased to be, for now. I mused, casting my gaze out the window to watch the snowfall outside our train car. I knew that I was never perfect, even though I strove to aim for perfection. Had I been perfect, Doctor Montague's body would not be frozen beneath the river. How many more of my clients would I fail?

"Elias Delancey lived." Watson's gentle voice cut into my thoughts as I glanced over to him, placing a hand on my knee. "And Helen Carter can no longer hurt anyone in that town again."

Perhaps, I forgot that while I was in tune with the distinct ways of logical processes, Watson was more finely tuned for emotions behind the logic. Even my own, whether or not I believed I possessed said emotions anymore. "I suppose I should continue to remind myself that," I said, though my remaining attention flicked to a small box on Watson's lap that I had not seen earlier.

"Where did you receive that from?" I asked, snatching the package away from him. My emotional heart welled up briefly, responding to every terrible scenario my overactive mind fed it. Poison? An explosive? It would not be out of character for Helen Carter to think of one last attempt to silence us.

"It's a Christmas gift, Holmes, from the Delancey's," Watson responded, gently pushing down the package so he could look me in the eyes. "Do you not remember it is a week before the holidays?" Asked he.

I snorted, wrapping my fingers around the package. "Watson, you do realize that in my work, I lose track of more trivial things than what is necessary for my mind-attic? I did not need to know where we were in the month while we pursued Helen Carter." I said, feeling a faint thrill at the approaching holiday to spend in company with those I cared about, such as Watson.

"Speaking of, old fellow, how did you know it was Helen Carter that committed the crime? Why I had thought she wasn't involved since she crashed." Watson asked. There was always a certain delight I took in astonishing those around me with my methods, so I revealed the notes that I had written down on my shirt-cuffs.

"It was the carriage crash that first put me onto Helen Carter's trail, my dear Watson—when I questioned Inspector Louis on my own, he informed me that Frank Carter was not always the man to so flippantly accuse every practitioner of medicine of being a snake-oil salesman. This led me to wager that Frank Carter was something of an actor being fed his lines and that he had another son," I explained. "Then there was the matter of the lady herself, who had every reason to be concerned for her child, but let her cover slip up when she focused more on scolding her husband rather than her other son."

"I also happened to chance upon a glimpse of who was driving the carriage when it nearly trampled the conductor. Truly, suppose Helen Carter wished to remain hidden. In that case, she should not have driven a carriage with murderous intent so soon after crashing with a mere hood as a disguise." I added after my prior explanation, before giving the box a hearty shake.

As the box shook, a clear, tinkling sound filled the stale air of our cabin, causing Watson's eyes to widen, cutting into my musings with a prickle of relief. "A bell?" He muttered as we both opened the package with delicate care to see the contents inside. Laid snug against a silk lining case was a pair of silver bells, their clappers decorated with sapphire. Next to it lie a piece of yellowed parchment, which I pulled to read aloud.

"Dear Mr. Holmes and Doctor Watson, I can not thank you enough for solving the mystery surrounding us all. I must confess that even though I showed terribly effective constraint against Helen Carter for hurting Martha, I showed no such qualms to the 'self-centered sod' that Doctor Watson and I questioned once I returned to the Estate."

I glanced up at Watson, tutting in amusement at him. "A self-centered sod? Excellent work, my dear Watson." I chuckled, as Watson palmed the back of his neck sheepishly.

"My bullpup, my dear Holmes. Even I can not tell what I will say." Said he.

"As it turns out, after this debacle, George Washington Vanderbilt, the man who built the Estate, permitted me to give these two bells to you both, as a gift on behalf of the Estate. They are made of real silver and are wonderful for decorating for Christmas. Happy Christmas, gentlemen; I hope to see you again if you return to America. -Elias Delancey." The rest of the note read after I turned my attention back to it.

"These are remarkable," Watson said softly, tracing his finger against the silver of the bells. "If I'm not mistaken, these are the very same bells that Frank Carter knocked off of the door in his stomping about. Even if that is the case, it was thoughtful of them to think of us during this debacle."

After a while of examining our gift, Watson gently shut the box closed, his gaze meeting mine.

"Happy Christmas, my dear Holmes." Said he.

"Happy Christmas, my dear Watson," I replied, settling down in my seat as the train continued chugging into the night.

Perhaps, this Christmas will be a brighter one for us both, after this business is over.

AN: Well, that took me… forever. These past three weeks have been rougher than usual for me, so IRL needed to come first.

I'll try not to take as long, but I want to give it a little while before I start working on Chapter 10 of this story so I don't burn out like crazy.

I might revisit Abe Slaney's trial and this story at some point later in this collection, provided that I have the muse for it. Admittedly, the prompt was also a bit difficult to incorporate into this piece, but then I thought that it would make a great gift in terms of this case. Had to fudge a bit of geography for the sake of time; sorry about that! (Speaking of geography: The French Broad River is one of the oldest rivers in the world, and as it holds that status, I thought it'd be fitting for it to have a grisly tale hiding beneath its surface.)

I've always wanted to visit a more emotional Holmes and Watson(as much as it makes sense for Holmes's character), hence the moments that may seem a little off. First time writing Watson's bullpup, after all!

Hopefully, the next chapter won't be as long, though admittedly, I got very excited writing the conclusion to this case.

Also, apparently, salting roads wasn't a practice until the late 1920's-1930's, so I needed to find something that made sense to melt the ice in the time period, hence the wood ash.

Anyway, see you next time! Reviews and feedback are much appreciated. :)

Cheers,

Blue