"I don't judge, Mr. Van Burton, not my forte," Sherlock shook his head, his curly hair bobbing lightly. "Now, where were we?"
"Right, then, nose to the grind," Owen cleared his throat as he resumed his story. "Thought it couldn't get worse, first the migraines and then suddenly I'm being watched. Well, I came home one night and found my flat been broken into."
"What of the book stack, Mr. Van Burton?" Sherlock questioned him.
Owen crossed his arms as he thought back to his flat. He then said, "I had a stack of books near my Telly, I'll admit I don't keep it in any order. The only reason it tipped me off was because one of the books changed places."
"Yes, the "Accounting for Dummies" book, I recall you telling me about it being on the top but placed at the bottom when you looked," Sherlock acknowledged and Owen nodded in agreement.
Sherlock became interested as he settled in his chair. "Nothing was taken, no money, no valuables, anything of worth to you, Mr. Van Burton?" Owen heard him ask.
Owen shook his head as he replied. "That's what got me, I checked everywhere in my flat, counted what money I had, nothing gone!" Owen gestured as he watched Sherlock eye him. "The only thing that was missing was some M&M's I kept a bag or two in the cabinets. When I came home I found one of them opened."
Sherlock tilted his head as he asked Owen, "Only the brown colored M&M's remained no other colors?"
Owen shook his head as he leaned forward as he ran a hand through his matted hair. The confusion he felt when he found the brown M&Ms spread around the counter.
"Could Sheila been behind it, Mr. Van Burton?" Sherlock inquired as Owen leaned back in his chair.
Owen pondered and shrugged. Though Sheila never liked him, he doubted she was the culprit. For starters, she hated chocolate, never cared for sweets at all. Even she would not break laws for a few sweets and rearranging the books.
However when he approached her over the strange occurrence, the woman who generally yelled at the top of her lungs when someone's late with their rent became suddenly pale and even afraid.
"No, but now that I think about it, Mr. Holmes, I think she knows whose behind it, but she won't tell me. Hell, she practically begged me to stop talking about, even giving me 6 months rent free if I'd stop," Owen answered as Sherlock showed interested.
Sherlock listened and jolted down mental notes on what Owen told him. It was apparent, Owen was genuine about his case, more, he became afraid for his life.
Someone began to stalk him, broke into his flat, stole certain colored candies, and even rearranged his books. Unusual, very unusual, and it gained Sherlock's interest, as he had a rule of three. A case must have three things or more for Sherlock to become involved, this was one of them.
It intrigued him that Owen's landlord, Sheila, normally loud and cancerous, suddenly became frightened and pale when Owen tried asking her about the flat.
Someone spooked her, who had the power to spook a 67 year old who arm wrestled Navy soldiers in pubs for sport and even gained a following of men?
"Did you notice anyone peculiar, Mr. Van Burton?" Sherlock crossed his arms as Owen looked to the ground. Looking up to Sherlock, Owen shook his head. "No, no one peculiar, Mr. Holmes," he replied just as Sherlock tilted his head.
"What of your workplace, anything going on there?" Sherlock continued as he uncrossed his arms and scratched the back of his head.
With the migraines, the paranoia fear, and the flat broken into, Owen did not think it could not get any worse. It did, in the most bizarre way possible, with the theft of a hundred euros from Bruno's safe.
"One day after the break-in, I went into work. I know it's silly, but there was a car parked on the side of the road, across from the bakery," Owen trailed just before he found Sherlock in front of him.
"What year, what model, what make, tell me right now, Mr. Van Burton," Sherlock only said as Owen stared, frightened by the suddenness of Sherlock.
"Um, 1990 Black Mustang GT, I saw its plate when I was coming in, 70858," Owen struggled to say as he saw Sherlock towering over him, keenly interested in the details.
"Did you see the driver?" Sherlock continued.
Owen noticed the windows had a black tint to them, so dark he could not tell how who or how many were in the car. All he remembered was the sudden appearance of Bruno, angrily yelling at him about the theft from the safe.
"No, the windows were tinted, even then I didn't see much before Bruno came and yelled about the missing money. By then, the car pulled from the curb and disappeared up the road, took a left, and that was it," Owen flinched when he remembered how angry Bruno was about the missing money. However, Bruno never blamed Owen; instead, he blamed his sons, as they were the only ones at the bakery late at night and knew the safe combination.
He tasked Owen to count the money while he and his sons got into arguments. The sons claimed they were innocent and that they only took eyes off the safe for a minute. The arguments grew intense to the point Owen worried there might be a fight breaking out in the bakery. Fortunately, no fight broke out, but it led to the sons storming out the bakery, spitting on the sidewalk and cursing in their native tongue.
"Only a hundred euros that was it gone, nothing else taken from the safe. He had over ten thousand euros in that safe and only a hundred taken," Owen shook his head as he rubbed his hazel eyes. He heard Sherlock retreating back to his plump chair and sat back, the plump chair groaning as Sherlock settled.
"It's rather strange that only a hundred taken from the safe, why didn't Bruno report it to the police, Mr. Van Burton?" Sherlock wondered. Owen told him.
"Bruno believed that it wasn't a police matter. Said it was a family matter, that the police had no business in the family business, so I left it at that, Mr. Holmes," Owen responded.
Sherlock understood and rested a leg over the other. "So, suspicious car at your workplace and the theft, do you believe they were connected?" Sherlock inquired.
Owen thought about this himself. Odd how there was a theft and at an arm distance, a nearly twenty-six year old car parked nearby. The fact the car suddenly drove off the moment Bruno angrily walked up to Owen only fueled the paranoia.
He said to Sherlock, "Mr. Holmes, I swear on God, something is wrong. I don't know what it is or why it's happening to me, but I know it's bad."
"I believe you, Mr. Van Burton, but I need to know more about your story. When you got home the next morning, why didn't you report the break-in?" Sherlock eyed him.
Owen layback in his chair as he eyes moved away from Sherlock. In truth, Owen tried reporting it, but because there was nothing of value stolen, the police told him to leave. Only if something as significant as a school ring taken would they lift their fingers. Since Owen had no credible witnesses, Sheila would not help him, he had no one to back up his claims. Thus his attempts at alerting the proper authorities failed and a catalyst for seeking out Sherlock.
"I tried, honestly, but they wouldn't help me," Owen summed his lackluster experience with the police. "I decided if they wouldn't help me, I'd find out myself."
Owen woke up early one day and headed out to the mart where he bought two large bags of M&M's. Multicolored sweets poured into a large bowl Owen found on sale at the mart, placed squarely in the center of the living room table.
Mixing up the stack of books, Owen placed Frank on top of them. Heavy but sturdy, the porcelain turtle took its spot on the stack as Owen took a photo of it and the bowl of M&M's with his phone as references.
"Remember, Frank, play dead if they come back, no heroism from you," Owen warned the porcelain turtle as he wagged his finger.
When Owen came back from work, the stack of books changed orders, Frank was on top of the books, and all that remained in the bowl of M&M's was the brown colored ones, neatly lined against the bowl.
"It was maddening, Mr. Holmes, coming home to finding it all like that. I'll admit, I entertained it as ghosts, but I know what I seen," Owen frowned as he placed a leg over the other. "Even then, that was rubbish evidence. The police would've said I done it and stop wasting their time, if they don't fine me first."
"Is there anything else missing from your flat during that time, Mr. Van Burton?" Sherlock gestured as Owen blinked several times.
Owen replied with, "No, I don't know what's going on, Mr. Holmes. Nothing goes missing but the M&M's, sans the brown ones."
Sherlock, perturbed, wondered what the end goal could have been to justify the odd break-ins. The fact nothing of value went missing each time, only piqued Sherlock's interest further.
"Mr. Van Burton, your flat was broken-in a second time, what did you do then?" Sherlock gestured again before rubbing his chin, pondering as Owen spoke.
"I couldn't ask Sheila. Police would not believe me, again. So, I went with the only logical option I could think of, security cameras," Owen groaned as he remembered how much it cost to buy four cameras, a receiver with 2TB of storage, and access to a special app on his mobile. Over 200 euros, Owen had to buy it from a speciality shop, there they put the actual box in a plain brown one so no one pried if they seen the manufacturer's logo. Returning home with the security cameras, Owen began setting each camera in an area of the flat where the activities occurred.
The first camera went in the kitchen, on top of the cabinet with the bags of M&M's, pointing down where anyone reaching into the cabinet would've been without being seen. Owen tested it several times before he found a position with the clearer picture.
The second camera, Owen cleverly hid it under his couch. The milky colored frills that hung over the floor provided extra cover for the camera and with some fiddling, the camera captured legs of anyone who walked in front of it.
The third camera, hidden on the bookshelf near the window, behind some knickknacks, ensured to catch an unobscured look of whoever opened the door without them noticing the camera. Owen moved things around to better hide the camera, unless someone wanted old action figures from the '80s that suffered at the hands of a child, they were not coming near the bookshelf. Even then, they were not getting much from an old Voltron figure that been run over by a bicycle and a He-Man that drowned in a creek.
The fourth and final camera Owen had trouble finding a spot. His flat, being small as it was, had not much furniture or ways for him to hide it. Eventually, Owen found an unconventional spot for the camera, it took time to wire the flat to avoid anyone from noticing or Sheila getting angry, but the camera set up nicely in Owen's bedroom. Hidden amongst a shelf of rugby trophies, no one would suspect a thing.
Owen placed the receiver on top of his DVD player. To anyone, it would look nothing more than a knock-off Onkyo receiver would, but to Owen, it was the only way to find proof.
It took an agonizing three hours, with Owen taking breaks in between, before the setup was complete and the app on his mobile worked. Owen found creative ways to hide the boxes and the manual for the security cameras, but in the end, it was worth the stomach-churning amount he paid for the cameras.
Now, he hoped to catch the perp and finally have the proof he needed for the police to intervene. Or so he thought as he began telling Sherlock.
"I spent a fortune of my money, but in the end my pockets were lighter than lint and I have no proof of what's going on," Owen rubbed his nose as he groaned, thinking about the horrible realization that overcame him when he found out what happened next.
Feeling that he would have his answers, Owen went to bed happy and when he went to work, he smiled a lot. The migraines came and went, but it did not stop Owen from thinking about what he will say to the police, how he will tell them he was, right and they were wrong. They had to help him now; the proof was there in front of him.
Unfortunately, for Owen, it did not turn out the way he would hope. Returning home after a long day of sorting receipts and order forms, Owen stood in the doorway aghast. The book stack changed yet again, Frank sitting on top of the books facing the door.
"I almost lost my bowels, Mr. Holmes, I was sick to my stomach looking at the scene," Owen bemoaned the horror he witnessed seeing Frank staring at him with its beady eyes, almost trying to tell him what happened.
Owen shook his head in disapproval as he then said, "I almost broke my nose running around my flat. It was a sight I never thought I see, Mr. Holmes, I thought this would solve my problems, but it didn't."
Owen nearly tripped as he ran into the kitchen and found that the small bags of M&M's were opened, all the brown colored M&M's being the only ones sprawled on the counter.
"What of the cameras, anything on them?" Sherlock watched as Owen's body language lampooned into sadness and bitterness. Sherlock deduced he did not find the answers he sought and found more questions, ones that haunt him so.
Owen slowly nodded, frowning as he explained to Sherlock how he checked the camera footage to find that his once foolproof plan failed. "I went to my mobile and searched the video logs. Gone on the receiver and looked, they were the same, all of them," Owen exhaled as he rubbed his chin, the feeling of anger and dismay washed over him as he attempted to remain calm for Sherlock.
Rushing to check the camera footage, Owen watched the earlier footage. He continued until he stopped at the part where he left for work with a smile to almost two hours later where nothing happened. The fourth hour into the footage, Owen noticed his doorknob turning slightly and before it opened the cameras suddenly went offline for forty minutes.
After forty minutes, the cameras came back online and the book stack changed. Owen shifted through each of the cameras, looking through the footages. The counter in the kitchen cleaned off and when the cameras turned on again, bags of M&Ms sat opened with brown M&M's scattered.
"Very peculiar turn of events, Mr. Van Burton, have you checked the cameras for defects?" Sherlock scratched at his chin. This case kept getting interesting and Sherlock knew for the sake of Owen, he has to take the case. Genuinely scared and frustrated, Owen deserved answers, and if security cameras will not give him answers, Sherlock will.
Owen slowly nodded his head. "I had them checked out when I had a day off, they were fine," Owen sighed heavily as he ran a hand through his hair, thinking about the pit in his stomach grow ten times the size as he knew he had nothing to show for his work. No footage of the culprit and at this point, Owen was sure the culprit enjoyed mocking him.
Owen even asked Frank if he seen anyone, but he claimed he did not and that Owen needed to calm down. Some advice from a turtle, but Owen gave him some credit, the turtle played dead and no one the wiser.
Sherlock pondered before asking, "Has this happened since?"
"Oh, it has, Mr. Holmes, I've given up filming the damned culprit. No point really now I work out of my flat," Owen rubbed his eyes before he lowered his hand. "I'm likely to see an UFO at this point; it's that time of the year anyhow."
"Mr. Van Owen, I believe your story. Something is a afoot and it is my duty as a detective to find the source of your troubles. I will gladly take the case and solve it in a timely matter," Sherlock stood up and stretched, popping his neck.
Owen stood up, teary eyed almost, as he shook Sherlock's hand. "Thank you, thank you so much, Mr. Holmes!" he stifled laughter tucked away in his voice as he almost hugged Sherlock. He stopped when he remembered something very important. "Um, Mr. Holmes, I hate to sound boorish, but I'm rather light this month. How much would you say covers the basic and how much would it take to pay you back entirely?"
Sherlock waved his hand as he said to Owen, "I'll gladly take this case for free, it's very interesting, indeed."
Owen's heart swelled with joy as he listened, but felt that he had to pay Sherlock back somehow. After all, it was not every day he meets someone willing to deal with his case and hear him out. Therefore, Owen compromised with an offer instead. "Um, Mr. Holmes, I don't suppose you have an accountant overseeing your finances, do you?" Owen sheepishly asked him.
Sherlock shook his head, almost laughing as he straightened out his jacket before saying, "Why would I need an accountant?"
"Well, Mr. Holmes, it's only fair that I give something in return for your help. If not money, then how about I oversee the tax forms and the expense?" Owen offered him. Owen watched as Sherlock tilted his head at the idea, pondering silently.
Sherlock often received gifts by those thankful for his service when he did not take money for it. An accountant offering his services in return, slightly new idea but Sherlock liked it better than a fruit cake from last December's major case. In addition, both John and Sherlock can agree on one thing: filing forms and the like is extremely tedious and irritating.
"You have yourself a deal, Mr. Van Burton," Sherlock finally said as he led Owen to the door.
Owen smiled, a rare sight, as Sherlock opened the door for him. "Now remember Mr. Van Burton. I will keep touch with you. If anything happens, text me," Sherlock said to him as he passed through the doorway.
Owen stopped and tilted his head, "I haven't even given you my number yet."
Sherlock shook his head. "You don't have to, I already took the liberty of adding it. Carry on, Mr. Van Burton, if I need anything from you, I'll text," he only said.
Owen watched as Sherlock closed the door and resumed going down the stairs. All he could think about right now was that someone believed him. All Owen hoped for was that in the end, this nightmare would be over. Once everything went back to normal, Owen can move on with his life without having to look behind his shoulder every time he stepped out of the flat for something.
Coming down the stairs, Owen saw Mrs. Hudson again with a brown bag wrapped and tapped down in her hands. "These ought to cheer you up," she said to him as she gave him the bag. Owen knew the smell from anywhere, fresh baked cookies, chocolate chip and oatmeal with butterscotch bits.
Owen smiled at her as he graciously held the bag close to his chest. "Thank you very much, Mrs. Hudson," he managed to say to her just before Sherlock suddenly opened the door again. He shouted down the stairs for Owen to hear, "Send me all the footage from those days!"
Owen looked up the stairs to see Sherlock closing the door. Turning his head back to Mrs. Hudson, she merely shrugged, like she seen this happen several times, almost enough that is normal for her. She did not lose her genuine concern however. As she led Owen to the door, she pointed at the bag.
"Eat those cookies, they'll make you feel better," she said to Owen. Owen nodded as he thanked her profusely.
No man or child would dare refuse free cookies, especially from a nice woman like Mrs. Hudson.
Owen took a cab back to his flat and upon returning home, he happily ate the cookies Mrs. Hudson baked. Frank wanted some, but because porcelain turtles lacked stomachs and taste buds, it would be waste of a perfectly good cookie.
Owen topped the cookies off with some milk before he checked his phone. There at the top of the queue of text messages from days past, Sherlock reminding him about the footage. Owen sent all the security footage when the break-ins occurred, the footage included time stamps and to help Sherlock more Owen sent him a copy of his schedule when he worked with Bruno.
Sherlock did not say anything else or give indication he acknowledged the texts. Owen assumed he was a busy man and would get back to him when he had time. While Owen waited, he began to work on more tax forms for a firm, the firm believes they owed far more money they are inclined and wanted Owen's opinion on the matter. Eventually, from the laborious "carry the two" Owen fell asleep at his computer with his headphones over his ears and a song from the band Red Children played.
"Sweet salivation upon your soul,
Hidden in the wretched hallow,
Innocent voices follow you as you dance a wicked dance.
Dandy thoughts turn to war and anger.
Danger is your fear and silver is your tears.
Sitting upon her porcelain throne,
Made of ashes from human bones,
Queen Annalise Merovingian makes you dance your soul away.
"Seek all who heed my call!"
Dreams become your nightmares,
Humanity and culture are all you despise,
Family and friends become the enemies."