AN: So, as I said, I'd update this when the muse struck me to continue writing, given my schedule. Well, the muse took me by the hand, so now I'm here. We're going back to the original setting for this one, around the events of 'The Adventure of the Dancing Men' in 1898. This will also be my first attempt at smushing three prompts together, so here we go! (Note the prompts will be unnumbered from here, going forwards)

Another first, this will be set in America! I will be returning to America in Chapter 9, as I will be splitting this into two parts. However, the second one will introduce prompt 9. I am aware that Holmes goes to America in 'His Last Bow,' and America is referenced in many stories. Still, I wanted to create a potential' first-time' scenario of setting foot in America for this.

As with anything set around 'The Adventure of the Dancing Men,' this chapter comes with a warning of mentions of murder and attempted suicide. Also, even more, mentions of murder, mostly because this is Sherlock Holmes.

Now that that's all out of the way….

From V Tsuion- Why did the Detective cross the road?

From cjnwriter- Ice as evidence

From Hades Lord of the Dead- Crash

Why Did the Detective Cross the Road?


Watson's POV

"Watson, as much as I am a man who makes it his job to know things that others do not, I must confess something."

It had been five months since the events of what I had termed 'The Adventure of the Dancing Men' in my publication in the Strand. For Holmes, myself, and all those involved, it had been a bleak and miserable affair. Hilton Cubitt was dead, while Elsie Cubitt would forever bear the scars of her tumultuous past.

For us both, I was accompanying Holmes on an adventure in America, to fulfill the unenviable task of aiding the American courts in trying Abe Slaney in their own country. The weight of what had happened to lead us here had hung like lead over us both for the past five months—each of us reacting to the sorrow in our own ways. I found the bull-pup that I kept rearing its head more often, while Holmes would foul up our sitting room with three pipes almost every night in any case that would come his way.

So when Holmes made that proclamation while we were traveling by train through America to Illinois, I could not help but feel my apprehension and heartbreak for Holmes's perpetual 'black mood' arise once more. "What is it, Holmes?" I asked, trying to keep my voice from quavering.

Holmes reached across the space between us, gently patting my hand as if I were a nervous client. "Do not worry, friend Watson, I am not in my lethargy at the moment. I was referring to the fact that this is the first time I've been in America, outside of correspondences." Said he.

Relief swarmed in me as I offered my companion a small chuckle. "Well, it seems we are two of a pair, then, Holmes, this is the first instance I have been to America as well. I only know of here from my brother's stories as a boy and what's in the paper." I remarked, pulling my hand from Holmes's grasp.

I glanced out the train window as we lapsed into silence, watching as the snow-covered landscape of a town called Asheville, North Carolina, rushed by, blending into the decaying greenery of cold-touched nature. I had heard of this location twice prior, having been the site for George Washington Vanderbilt to build his new Estate and the origin of where Doctor Elizabeth Blackwell first got her medical degree.

Both stories intrigued me greatly when they circulated in the paper I had heard about this town in, although I glanced back, catching a look of intense attention on Holmes's face as he joined me in perusing our scenery. "You're interested?" I inquired, as Holmes's gaze snapped back to me.

"Indeed, my dear Watson. While I find that some lack the singular logical mind everywhere, I find myself intrigued by the places and patterns that criminality might occur here." Said he. "There is enough variety here to leave me not entirely devoid of interest."

"You think there may be some relation to what we've discovered in England?" I asked, leaning forwards. As I did so, my thought was cut off as our train slowed to a hasty, bumpy crawl before stopping entirely on the tracks. My gesture threatened to throw me out of my seat, but through my own nature, I hoisted myself back into my original position.

Holmes let out a small bark of laughter, to what, I knew not. Before he could say anything to explain himself, our door opened, revealing the conductor's apologetic face, which glistened with coal and sweat. He was a small man, of about twenty-seven years of age, with his fair, curled hair tucked under his hat.

"My apologies, gentlemen, I'm just letting you know that we're temporarily stopping in Asheville before continuing our route. The track has been iced over, so we're trying to fix it before moving on." Said he, reaching up to wipe his face with an embroidered handkerchief.

Perhaps what I was feeling was illogical if Holmes were to say anything about it. Still, I felt a small flicker of gratitude at the idea of stopping. If the stop could alleviate some of our dour mood regarding the Abe Slaney trial, I would be alright with the detour. "That's fine, dear sir, do what you need to do," I said.

"This isn't the first time the track has been iced here, has it?" Holmes inquired suddenly, on full alert with interested excitement.

This has happened more than once? I don't see why Holmes would be excited about the prospect. I thought as the conductor let out a surprised peal of laughter.

"No, it isn't. Strange thing, this is, but if we've fixed it before, we can fix it again." The conductor mused. "Between you and me, though—" He said, glancing around as he lowered his voice, to the point Holmes and I had to crane towards him to hear it.

"It's been happening in the town, too. Around this time, the roads will be slicked over in a sheet of ice that wasn't there before. It's a nightmare for carriages, but no one has crashed quite yet." He admitted.

And there's the excitement. I thought, a smile twitching its way onto my face as I realized what this meant for my companion. Sometimes, I do believe his enthusiasm for a case is infectious. I thought. There were often times, where, at a mere suggestion of his adventures or cases, that I would feel a particular sort of new burst of energy in me that I knew not where it came from. Perhaps that was why I found myself unwanting to say no to Holmes, apart from there being a need for a 'Boswell.'

Holmes bounded out of his seat at that, throwing his coat around his wiry frame. "Well, my dear Watson, it seems as though we've stopped in the right place, for the game is afoot." Said he, rubbing his hands together. "As for you, dear fellow, would you follow us out so that I may begin to shed some light on this case?" He asked.

"Right behind you, Holmes," I said as I got to my feet more slowly. I pulled my medical bag from beneath my seat with a flourish in my own excitement while the conductor looked at us this way and that as if we had gone mad. "What exactly do you mean? Neither of you seems like a cop or a Pinkerton." He asked.

"I am close in profession to the Pinkertons, but I am the only one with my occupation in the world; that is what I mean. Mr. Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective." Said my companion, offering his hand. "This is my friend and colleague, Doctor Watson."

I gave a warm smile as Holmes introduced me, while the conductor's face lit up in recognition. "Oh, I've heard of you two! My wife follows your Strand publications, Doctor Watson, she absolutely adores them. Never thought I'd be leading you to your next mystery, so I'd be happy to meet you outside, although—" He scanned Holmes over once more after vigorously shaking his hand.

"Your imagery in the publication makes you a bit shorter than I expected." He added as I snorted in laughter. I was never in charge of the illustrations for those stories, though I daresay that's new. Holmes seemed to feel the same, letting out a sharp bark of shared laughter.

"I can't say that I've heard myself being called short before," Holmes remarked politely, the conductor waving briefly at us before moving down the rest of the seats to convey the same message.

After he departed, Holmes glanced back at me, his polite expression dropping. "I should have a word with the illustrators, Watson; they share your pawky humor." He sniffed.

"I have no say in the illustrators' matters, though I must tell you that you look smaller when you're hunched over your chemistry set like a bird," I remarked, my tone light.

"While I do not approve of you making my exploits to be sensational literature, I know I would fare better with a writer while talking to illustrators—a bird, Watson, truly?" Holmes remarked as I wrapped myself in my coat, bundling against the frigid temperatures that were sure to greet us outside.

"You have not seen yourself while you're working," I said simply, trying to hide another snort of amusement.

"Friend Watson, my work requires my concentration; I find myself in a better position to focus when I am in those positions you find to be akin to that of a bird." He retorted as we stepped off of the train and into the snow.

The town itself we stopped in was rather like one of the villages along the mountain areas of England, with carriages and people alike shuffling through the snow. "Welcome to Asheville, gentlemen. Home to ten thousand, thereabouts, and that puzzle that I mentioned we're in." The conductor called as he strode up beside us.

"Pray, be as precise as you can about the details; I shall question you about the details I find important." Said Holmes, gesturing for the conductor to speak before us.

"I guess I should introduce myself before I start. Elias Delancey, I've been the conductor here for almost two years. For about two weeks, even when there's no snow or rain around, we'll all get here, and the roads and tracks are covered in ice, as you deduced Mr. Holmes. Not even the roads by Pack Square, just the side roads people take to get anywhere." Our conductor said, pointing to a stretch of side roads in the distance.

"Pardon for the interruption, but why did you start asking the police about this affair?" Holmes inquired, all of his focus on Elias Delancey's intriguing story that was beginning to be laid before us.

"No one else was, Mr. Holmes, and I was getting worried that it would cause my train to get into an accident with how many times the tracks have been iced here. Even if we have the first electric street railway lines in the state of North Carolina, it's still bad news for a train. What finally made me talk was my wife, though. She works over at the new Biltmore Estate as a maid, and she broke her hip falling on it on the way to work, three days ago." Delancey explained.

"Is she doing alright now?" I asked, unable to hide the worry from my voice. Even if Delancey said no-one has crashed yet, I can't begin to imagine the effects it's had on those trying to get everywhere.

"Oh, yes, thank you for your concern, Doctor Watson, she's resting up at home now, though it's hard for me to see her with my work sometimes." Came the response, as the conductor offered me a brief smile, worry etched onto his features.

"Though when I brought it to the police, not only could they not make heads nor tails of it, they seemed to mock the very notion that the ice was anything but a natural occurrence." Said he, Delancey's expression faltering.

"That is a logical conclusion given the evidence that they had, but it seems they are far too timid in their observations to go any further." Holmes sniffed. It seemed, even being in this new area momentarily, the Asheville police had earned the same ire he reserved for Scotland Yard at times. "Do continue. Have they done anything else?"

"The closest that they've ever gotten to doing anything else was applying guardsmen to the area, who leave at night. I will admit, they were the ones who found my wife and brought her to safety, but I fear their presence has done nothing. It's been the same pattern, day in and day out." Delancey said. "Wake up, ice, go to sleep, ice, try to pull the train in, ice."

"And this happens all across town?" I asked, placing a hand on the conductor's shoulder in sympathy. To be utterly helpless to a situation you knew not of, I was too intimately familiar with the pain it brought. Such was the case with Reichenbach Falls.

"Indeed, Doctor Watson, I've been hearing reports coming in from all over of devastating injuries—broken backs, hips, legs, all from two weeks back." He muttered, his voice trembling.

"My apologies, gentlemen; I'm afraid my worries have gotten the best of me before I've even gotten you close to the situation." The conductor admitted after he took a moment to collect himself.

"Do not worry, dear fellow, we shall assist you in any way we can," Holmes said soothingly, taking the hand that Delancey had outstretched, patting it as he did with mine before. He turned his attention to me as he did so, and I was unsurprised to see the raw determination settling in his gaze.

More than anything, he once told me, he feared failing his clients. After what had happened, I do not know if anything will stop him from solving this mystery for Elias Delancey. And—I can not blame him. I thought, as I too, would be remiss to let anything stop us this close to the bitter reminder of what our failure was in regards to Abe Slaney.

"I'll look into the train schedules for to-morrow, Holmes," I said, applying his methods to guess what he wanted me to say, as Delancey's face lightened considerably at our words.

"Truly? You wish to delay going to your destination for this small town?" He asked as Holmes gave a nod, his focus going back to our new companion.

"Indeed! Watson and I shall not leave the area until this icy web that our villains have woven has been untangled." Said he with a touch of his usual dramatic flourish, removing his hand from Delancey's. As if he had been given life once more, Delancey's face split into a genuine smile, joy radiating from his every mannerism.

"Thank you, gentlemen, thank you! Come, I'll show you two to the area; just be sure to watch your step!" Said he, setting briskly off on foot through the snow.


Holmes and I strolled arm-in-arm behind Elias Delancey through the snow-laden town at a slower pace, as my war injuries were loudly staging a rebellion for being out in the cold in a manner like this.

Although the weather was bitingly bitter, I felt warm, as if I was still on the train rather than here. Perhaps it was both Delancey, who was almost bounding through the snow like a newborn rabbit, and Holmes pressed against my side that kept me going as it had earlier.

"Here we are, gentlemen!" Delancey cried, stopping at a complete halt. We three looked down the roads, which glistened with pure ice. Nearby carriages hesitated, attempting to navigate their way across the treacherous terrain. Their horses let out pained, pitiful neighs whenever their hooves skidded, the sound of which elicited a coil of fear in my stomach.

"I can not envy the position the carriage drivers are in," I muttered, hoping that the road would not be congested with traffic while Holmes was examining it. At once, Holmes unwrapped his arm from mine, busying himself with the ice on his hands and knees, completely unphased by the cold. I suppose if he can jump out of the Diogenes Club into the snow, this is indeed nothing for him.

He went about the ice like a hunting hound before following the trail as far as he could reach with his magnifying glass without going onto the ice. After a while, he pressed his palm against the cold surface, looking back up at us.

"Why, you had a capital observation, Conductor Delancey; this ice is indeed unnatural," Holmes remarked, as I slowly joined Holmes and Delancey in kneeling down in the snow. He passed me the magnifying glass, pointing to the edge. "See what you make of that, friend Watson."

I obliged, examining the frozen road. It was hard to notice the difference, though when I craned the majority of my body over the ice without going on it, the coil of fear now hardening into a palpable knot in my stomach— as the edges resembled that of a spill of water, as if from a bucket. "It was made on purpose?" I deduced.

"Elementary, Watson! Once I heard the story on the train, and Conductor Delancey's story about his wife, it began to form the very simple links in the chain that—" Holmes cut off, as the sound of a sudden crash filled our ears, followed by a pained, strangled yell. My companion took off at once across the icy road at that, with Delancey and I scrambling after him.

"I'm afraid the worst is only yet to come, but we are too late!" Holmes hissed over the wind roaring in our ears. Next, it will be perhaps a murder. I recognized, as my heart seemed to pound in my ears, drowning out whatever Holmes said next.

I found myself flying ahead of him, dodging in between the approaching carriages that were skidding to a halt beside the nightmarish scene. Smashed against a withered, gnarled tree was the splinters of a carriage, both horses slumped beside the crash. To my horror, the carriage contained three passengers, one of which could not have been older than ten and two years.

I skidded to the scene first, Holmes and Delancey on my heels. "I know them!" Cried Delancey as he threw himself onto the wreckage, clawing his way to them. "They helped in the Biltmore beside my wife!"

"Watson! Come here!" Called Holmes, prying the wood blocking Delancey's way to the passengers aside. While I did not have my regular bag for an inspection, I breathed a sigh of relief as I produced a smaller medical bag that I had brought with us from the train, joining the other two in their endeavour of freeing the passengers.

Around us, the carriages and their passengers murmured in dissent, to what, I knew not. I found myself my own horror growing when they hopped back in their carriages, continuing on their way as if they had not seen anything at all. As much as I wanted to shout at them for help, we had more pressing matters to attend to. We eventually pried them free, pulling them onto the ice.

"Are you all alright?" I asked, scanning them each over in turn. The first was a woman about Delancey's age, who escaped from the crash no worse for wear, apart from a look in her eye akin to a hunted animal.

"Terrified! My poor baby nearly died!" Said she, as I crouched beside the child lying in her lap. I could see her concern as the child was bleeding at an alarming rate from a long gash across his forehead.

"He will not die, miss, but I will need you to hold him while I stop the bleeding," I said, as the second, her husband, eyed me warily.

"Are you really a Doctor? We get all types comin' through here; I don't want a snake oil salesman treating my son." He grunted as his wife shot him a sharp look, obliging to my request.

"Frank, you said you wouldn't! He's here to help, so I'm going to let him." Said she, lifting her chin defiantly to her husband. As I began to work dressing the child's wound and stopping the bleeding, Holmes turned his attention to the husband beside us.

"You will find that Doctor Watson is more than capable of treating your son." He said, his voice low. "Now, pray, tell what happened so that we may assist you further." His voice, while still polite, held enough of a warning to this impertinent man.

"I can vouch for these guys, Mr. Carter; they're the only ones who took my idea seriously that this ice was made on purpose." Delancey piped up. "And don't tell me you don't recognize Sherlock Holmes from the Strand?" He added.

"I certainly do. Your wife has been passing them out, and if my husband doesn't want to say anything, I will for him; he adores them." Mr. Carter's wife said, and her husband at least had the decency to lapse into silence briefly from Holmes and Delancey's warnings, a faint flush on his face.

"Well, I had been driving the carriage, but the horses had their hooves looked at recently, and when we got by the tree, we skidded." Said he after a while. "We knew about the ice too, but we didn't think it was this bad."

Holmes's face shifted, intense interest once again rising in his features. "And Conductor Delancey said you worked at the Biltmore?" Asked he.

"Yes, both my wife and I help clean and take care of meals there." Came the response. Meanwhile, I let out a noise of triumph, the bleeding stopping as I finished dressing and wrapping the wound.

"He should be alright," I remarked, as Mr. Carter's wife hugged her child fiercely, tears pricking the sides of her eyes.

"Thank you, Doctor." She mumbled, scooping her child off of the snow and getting to her feet. "Frank?" She added, turning her gaze back to her husband.

"If you must, Helen. Thank you, both. It was—" He cut off with a dry swallow before finding his voice once more. "It was a pleasure getting to meet the famous Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson, and seeing you again, Conductor Delancey."


It took the efforts of us three once more to make sure they were quite alright, the Carters walking the rest of the way on foot to a nearby hotel. For one, Holmes was flushed at the attention and praise that he had received, as well as the biting wind that had stirred up.

I burrowed deeper into my coat, pulling myself to my feet from my prior position shakily. "What do we do now, Holmes?" I asked, unable to suppress a small shiver that wracked my body from the chill.

"I do believe we're closer to shedding light on this puzzle, my dear Watson. We will need to visit the Biltmore, and this chain will be complete." Said he, getting to his feet. My leg groaned a protest, though I grit my teeth, unwilling to stop now for my old injuries. I could never hide the truth from Holmes, who was once again at my side for me to lean on. I threaded my arm through his once more, silently grateful for his support.

"I can take you two to the Biltmore, although it's going to be colder the more we walk," Delancey warned, gesturing through the traffic that had formed near us.

"Walking would be wiser," I said as the street became a melody of pained whines from skidding horses once more. "Do not worry about me; I shall be alright with a walk," I added, mostly for Holmes's sake, as his gaze briefly cracked, showing worry in its depths.

"Then come, friend Watson, Conductor Delancey!" Holmes urged, the implied haste in his voice spurring us forward. Conductor Delancey walked ahead of us as we crossed the road, dodging around carriages that were attempting to gain footing.

"Mr. Holmes, might I ask you something?" The conductor called over his shoulder, though I could barely hear his voice over the wind as Holmes and I followed behind him. "You said you were close to solving this, right? Who was it?" He asked.

"I do not know!" Holmes responded languidly, though he then added, "Though I suspect they will make their presence known soon!" I could not help but feel a prickle of irritation at Holmes's response. Was this really the time to be holding back the details? I thought, trying to swallow back my annoyance to cooperate.

The walk had left my leg on the brink of collapse, had I not had Holmes's support. However, I had another reason to ignore the pain once more, as the Biltmore Estate sprawled across the way through the snowy grounds.

"Magnificent," I said in slight awe as we finally caught up with Delancey at the side of the road. His cheeks were ruddy as he brought up his hands to blow into them. However, he seemed undarkened by the cold, offering us another beaming grin.

"It is, isn't it? They finished three years ago, and the Vanderbilts spent their first year in marriage here." Delancey remarked, sliding his hands in his trouser pockets. "We're almost there, gentlemen, just across this road and up the grounds by the streetcar line."

The roads beside the ground were more congested here than they were by the carriage crash scene, determined in their affairs. While Delancey moved confidently across the ice and between the carriages, I felt Holmes suddenly part from my side, sprinting across the road after our client.

"Watch-" Before I could yell a warning, a pair of carriages thundered towards Holmes and Delancey as my companion bundled him out of the approaching slipping hooves in a tackle, narrowly avoiding being trampled or causing a crash a second time.

As soon as the traffic parted, I took off across the road, careful not to become another unhappy accident as I reached my companions. Holmes gripped the conductor's arms, scanning his form over, while the man breathed heavily.

"I knew as soon as I heard you step out onto it and the sound of the approaching carriages. A folly of human nature indeed, to be traveling despite such odds." Holmes was saying, as I stopped beside them.

"I didn't even know," Delancey muttered once he regained his breath. "I've been so used to walking on snow and ice that I didn't hear them coming." Said he. "Perhaps my excitement clouded my judgment more than I would have liked." He muttered.

"You were not hurt by the hooves?" I asked as Delancey shook his head, waving off my gesture of taking my medical bag out.

"No, no, I'm good. But this will make for a story, won't it?" He chuckled dryly. "Nearly trampled trying to solve a mystery with Sherlock Holmes." He remarked.

"I am certainly glad you weren't harmed, conductor," I said earnestly, thanking inwardly that we had not let our client come to harm. At my words, Holmes seemed to perk up, his hound-like pursuit of a case working its way back into his mannerisms after his brush with an accident.

"Conductor, my dear Watson, I believe I have been almost a fool in regards to this case." Said he, as my head snapped up in alarm. Is this why he refused to say anything? I was taken slightly aback by this as I helped both men to their feet.

"What do you mean, Holmes? Surely this isn't you rethinking things after such a close brush with a tragedy?" I asked, taking the time to make sure my friend wasn't injured. It would be just like him to not admit his follies in pursuit of a case.

"Nothing of the sort, Watson, though I will tell you what I know once we get out of the cold." Said he, shaking his head as he regarded Delancey. The conductor shivered beneath his coat, his eyes darting about warily as if a carriage would try to plow him over once more.

I could not blame Holmes for that notion, nor could I Delancey for his fear of being out any longer. "Are you able to walk to the estate?" I asked, trying to keep my voice even and avoid startling him further.

"Of course, Doctor Watson, it's not like my job as a conductor is any less dangerous. I didn't get hurt, so I'm good to walk, but what about you?" He asked. I regarded my leg, which I had a hair off the ground to avoid it from buckling beneath me. Had I placed my foot down unwisely, I dare say I would not be able to walk for the remainder of the day.

"I can manage." I grit out after placing my foot down into the snow. I often liked to think I shared someone like the conductor's unwavering spirit, though I wasn't sure what that meant for me anymore. However, over the years, my own follies came to the forefront, whether I wanted them to or not. If I couldn't manage, part of me believes I'd have been run out long ago. I had convinced myself of that fact.

I took a faint step to prove my point, though I daresay it had a mind of its own by now. It gave way, though before my knee could hit the snow, Holmes and Delancey were at either of my sides, propping me aloft with their weight. "You did not need to." I protested as Holmes shot me a look of mixed worry and faint amusement.

"Watson, I was aware you needed aid while we were here; I was not going to stop over the follies of our natures." Said he, as we began the slow trek up the frosted grounds towards the Biltmore Estate.

"We've got you, Doctor Watson," Delancey said in agreement, causing all my protests to lapse into warm silence.


I soon found myself inside the Estate with Holmes and Delancey, huddled in front of a crackling fire. Even if I had wanted to be stubborn before, I realized with no uncertainty that it would be unwise of me to move until my pain had subsided.

The Estate itself on the interior was surprisingly quaint. However, there was an air of tension between us regarding the events that had brought us here. What would have happened if Holmes had not gotten to the conductor in time? I wondered, not daring to think of what the alternatives could have been.

I don't think either of us would sleep well at night if that happened.

While Delancey had stoked the fire even further, Holmes had occupied himself with the interior, scanning the length, before he suddenly clambered onto one of the chairs, his gaze fixed onto the ceiling.

"Mr. Holmes?" Delancey glanced up upon noticing his shadow when he finished his task, his mouth falling open. "Get down from there; what are you doing?" He asked as Holmes turned his attention to the conductor.

"How often does this area receive snow?" Asked he, dodging the conductor's question as he so often did.

"Quite a bit, though as you might have guessed, it ices a lot more, which is why everyone thought the roads were a natural occurrence beside me. But what on Earth does this have to do with why you're on the chair?"

"An observation, conductor!" Holmes said as he sprung off the chair with a flourish. "Gentlemen, if you would give me your undivided attention after a moment." He hurried his way over towards the window that had been left open, sticking half of his wiry frame out of it.

"Does he do this often?" Delancey whispered as he made his way over to my armchair. "My wife told me about The Norwood Builder and his penchant for dramatic flourishes, though I can't say I understand why he wants to practically go out the window."

I chuckled, offering Delancey a grin. "I pride myself on my own powers of observation, Conductor Delancey, but I'm afraid this instance, I am just in the dark as you are," I remarked.

"You may consider yourselves not in the dark any longer." In our conversation, Holmes suddenly arrived at my shoulder with a chunk of rapidly melting ice between his palms. "Do you observe anything about this, gentlemen?" Asked he.

I peered over at the ice, frowning as it was just that, ice. Nothing as remotely sinister as what we saw on the way over. "It's a natural piece of ice, Holmes," I said.

"That is precisely it, my dear Watson, and it is what we will use to catch the persons responsible for this deed. It is simplicity itself in this regard; there has been someone actively replenishing the ice on the roads to layer the ice, someone we may have witnessed while we were out." Holmes said gravely, his face set into a grim line.

"Someone we noticed? Are they still doing it now?" I asked as Delancey went paler than the snow outside. At once, we seemed to think the same.

"We saw a terrible amount of people on the way here by the crash-site," Delancey said, turning his attention to the window. "And there were those—carriages that nearly trampled us, Mr. Holmes, were they the ones who have been doing the deed?"

"Indeed, though they will make themselves apparent to-night. Will you be able to gather anyone you know works here, conductor?" Holmes asked, his mannerisms giving away nothing to me of what he was thinking.

"I can, and I'll get started now," Delancey remarked, bundling himself once more in his coat and other apparel. "If you'll excuse me, Mr. Holmes, Doctor Watson." Said he, as he hurried out the door.

Holmes turned his attention to me once more, and in an instant, I knew he did not need words to convey what he was feeling, unlike mere moments before. Someone's targeting those connected to this Estate, including Delancey, came the unspoken was a terrible scheme, one that threatened to dig its claws deeper into each of those people.

And it was only a matter of time before this became personal for Holmes.


AN: So, this is part one of the story, which I did not expect, really, but it set itself up quite well. I had a lot of fun with this, especially writing Elias Delancey, the excitable train conductor. Part 2 will cover the conclusion, as well as, hopefully, some other lighter stuff involving Holmes and Watson's time in America.

The Biltmore Estate was built in 1895, and Asheville, North Carolina, also had the first electric railway streets in the state! While privately owned, the Estate did include staff, hence the introduction of characters connected to the Estate. I couldn't help but have a little bit of North Carolina history for this, as I, well, you could say I'm very familiar with the area. :) (Asheville was also the first thing that popped into mind for 'snowy American town.')

My references are abundant, as is tradition. They include, and are not limited to, 'The Adventure of the Dancing Men,' 'The Five Orange Pips,' 'A Treatise on Failure,' 'The Adventure of the Norwood Builder,' 'Without the Pulse,' 'A Study in Scarlet,' and many more.

Also, if Watson and Holmes may seem a little off or testy, I've always imagined them still feeling the effects of what happened after 'The Dancing Men', since it was the second time one of Holmes's clients died, so that's why!

Lastly, I have about zero clues on how newspapers worked back then, but I would venture to guess there would have been a paper for towns, places, and events in other countries. If I fudged anything up in regards to that, my apologies!

Thanks for the reviews! Feedback is always appreciated; I love hearing from you all!

Cheers,

Fractals from the Past, aka Blue