Prompt from V Tsuion: It is impossible to create something out of nothing. If one wishes to obtain something, something of equal value must be given.

I never told Holmes the story of how I obtained my leg wound. My shoulder wound he deduced upon our first meeting, as you know, my dear readers, and after our acquaintance deepened into friendship I shared the story of the Jezail bullet that nearly took my life. But the story of how exactly I gained my other wound, I did not tell him, though he of course knew it existed. He even knew the very day and place it happened, but still could not figure out how.

Now Holmes is gone, and I have no more chance to tell him the story and see if, despite his contempt of all things supernatural, he would have believed me. Instead I will write it here, as the mystery even Sherlock Holmes never solved.

It was during the affair of the Dutch steamship Friesland, that dreadful case that left its eternal mark on both Holmes and myself. Peter Tredget had been slowly poisoning all of the hundreds of passengers onboard as an attempt to hide the murder of just one man, Arthur Tobin, our client's son. We had discovered his ploy, and tracked him to his cabin, but neither of us had expected him to be carrying a gun, nor that he would know how to use it.

"Come no closer!" he shrieked, half-mad. "I will end you if you come closer!"

"The game is up, Tredget!" Holmes called, his head barely raised above the lounge we sheltered behind. "Come quietly, and you may yet leave this steamship alive."

"Alive?" Tredget giggled. "For what kind of life?"

For a moment, all was disturbingly quiet.

Then running footsteps came towards us, and Tredget appeared directly over our heads, gun pointed at Holmes. "I will not die alone!"

I raised my revolver and shot him dead, but not before he squeezed out a single shot.

Holmes fell against my shoulder, hot blood sinking into my clothes. I frantically turned to him, my fingers searching through his hair to find the wound. "Holmes!" I cried, but his eyelids had closed and would not open.

A sharp chime filled the air, like the tinkle of metal against ice. The room fell abruptly cold. Despite the tropical climate, frost crept over the windows. Holmes' blood over my hands was the only warmth I could feel.

I knew what this was. As strange as it sounds, it had happened to me before.

When first my shoulder was pierced by that Jezail bullet, the same horrid cold had occurred, followed by a voice. As blinded by pain as I had been, I could not recall any details, but had the impression of a voice asking me to make a bargain. I could be healed of my bullet wound, continue my army career, but only if I would give something of equal value. After all, the voice had said, as soft and cold as snow, something cannot come of nothing.

The same voice spoke again now. "John Watson, beloved of the Winter Storm, will you make a bargain?"

"I have no time to speak with you, my friend is fading!"

"Will you make a bargain?" the voice repeated.

"For Holmes, anything." If I could get him to treatment in time, the wound would not be fatal, but an injury to the head was dangerous. Would it impair that wonderful brain, the reasoning powers he valued so highly? Would he still be the friend I knew?

"Something cannot come from nothing. What is your bargain?"

I knew there was only one response. "A wound for a wound. Give his wound to me instead."

"A wound to take from you something you value highly?"

I swallowed, yet answered truthfully, "There is nothing I value as highly as him."

"Very well."

The room warmed. The frost melted away. At my side, Holmes stirred. "Watson?" He startled upright. "Watson, what happened?"

Tears of relief sprung to my eyes. "Tredget rushed us. He managed a shot before I killed him." My relief and happiness at my friend's recovery was so great I felt almost light-headed.

Holmes frowned at me. "Yes, and he was aimed at me. Why do I not remember– Watson!" His gaze had turned to my leg, but I could not stop looking at him, even as black crept around the edges of my vision. "Watson, stay awake! What happened, man?"

I could not answer him. My faculties fled me, and I slipped into darkness.