At this very moment in London, young Sherlock was 9 years, 10 weeks, 2 days, and 5 minutes old. His dog, Redbeard, was 2 years, 3 weeks, 5 days, 10 hours, and 34 minutes old. Sherlock and Redbeard were running through the streets of London when suddenly, Redbeard crossed the street without his boy and was struck by a semi. Sherlock looked at his dog's corpse and wanted to cry, he was his best friend. Sherlock managed to get to the corpse to try and haul it out of the street. When he wrapped his arms around the animal it sprung back to life. This was the moment young Sherlock realized he wasn't like other children, nor was he like anyone else, for that matter. Young Sherlock could touch dead things and bring them back to life. When Sherlock and Redbeard head home, after one minute, in a close proximity, a squirrel fell dead from a tree. When young Sherlock and Readbeard came home his mother was making a delicious pie. She put the pie in the warm oven and set the timer.
This touch was a gift given to him, but not by anyone in particular. There was no box, no instructions, no manufacturer's warranty; it just was. The terms of use weren't immediately clear, nor were they of immediate concern, young Sherlock was in love. His name was John. At this very moment he was 11 years, 5 weeks, 9 days, and 2 minutes old. Young Sherlock did not think of him as being born or hatched or conceived in any way; John came ready-made from the Play-Doh Fun Factory of Life. Sherlock and John would play together on John's front lawn. Sherlock would be adorned with a red pterodactyl costume and John in his dinosaur costume. In their imaginations young Sherlock and a boy named John conquered their little world made out of Play-Doh, which to them would be the whole world. They would go around stomping and smash the little Play-Doh people and their houses made of cardboard. Long after their playdate was over, young Sherlock remained under John's spell.
As young Sherlock's mother dusted off the boy with a broom, a blood vessel in her brain burst, killing her instantly. Young Sherlock looked at his mother's corpse and hesitantly touched her cheek, bringing her back to life. "I must've slipped," young Sherlock's mother laughed, "Clumsy me," she said as she headed for the stove, "Did the timer go off?"
Young Sherlock's random gift that was, came with a caveat or two. It was not only a gift that gave –– it took. After a minute, the timer went off and young Sherlock looked out the window. He saw John's father, who was once watering the grass on the front lawn, drop dead on his back. His mother also looks out the window to see what young Sherlock was looking at and drops the pie she just grabbed out of the oven. In the universal scheme of things, young Sherlock traded his mother's life for Chuck's father. Young Sherlock discovered he could only bring the dead back to life for one minute without consequence; any longer, and someone else had to die.
One night at young Sherlock's house, his mother was tucking him into bed. There was one thing about touched dead things that young Sherlock didn't know, and he learned it in the most unfortunate ways. Once he crawled into his warm and cozy bed, his mother bent down and kissed him on the forehead. She turned blue for awhile before dropping onto the floor, dead as a doornail. Young Sherlock crawled out of bed and touched his mother's cheek. Nothing happened, she stayed dead. The rule was: The first touch would make them alive. The second touch would make them dead again, forever.
At the cemetery, young Sherlock was surrounded by family as they get ready to bury his mother. After a brief mourning period, young Sherlock's father would hustle him off to boarding school, never to be seen again. John would be fostered by his aunts Mary and Sarah, a renowned swimming duo who shared the same personality disorders and a love for fine cheese. Young Sherlock and the boy named John walked towards each other, dizzy with grief, curiosity and hormones, young Sherlock and John had their first and only kiss at their respective parents' funeral. After his mother's death, Sherlock avoided social attachments, fearing what he would do when someone he loved died.