A.N. Hola:) Thank you so much for checking out my story! This idea came to me after watching an episode of Touch. I am a big fan of both Touch and Sherlock, and I wondered what it would be like to combine the ideas. This story is a fun little experiment that I hope people will enjoy. I apologize in advance if it becomes choppy or confusing. Also, the characters might become OOC, because I am changing some things about them. Thank you so much for reading, and PLEASE REVIEW:) –Shiloh

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sherlock or Touch.

Preface

Raindrops. Beautiful orbs of crystal clear water that fall from the sky. Each individual tear emitted by nature falls precisely where it was meant to land, joining together with other drops of liquid emotion.

In fact, raindrops are a lot like people. Each individual drop condenses uniquely, but finds a way to join together with others. For a varying amount of time, they both coast through life surrounded by a constant, comfortable environment. But when the time comes, it storms, and they scatter, unable to handle the sudden direct change.

Change. The ghastly dark shadow that looms over every human being. People detest it, as it is one of the few things in life that they cannot predict or prevent from happening. They don't realize that everything is connected, therefore predictable.

Connections. Threads of un-coincidental happenings that tie everything together. Each individualized by their varying degrees of length, thickness, importance, and urgency. These strands of logic can be seen all around us, tied to even the smallest grain of sand. Each follows its own path, bending, twisting, and looping around objects that are meant to collide. They flow like a gentle river, subtle with grace and power.

Problems arise when an obstacle disturbs this continuous pattern. A ripple effect is generated by this novelty variable, throwing off the entire consistency of every connection. If this problem is not repaired, vital threads can be shattered instantly, distorting the population's concept of reality.

People are not aware of these connections, therefore they do not possess the ability to fix the problems that arise. People continue to carry out their normal lives, unaware of the complications that threaten to destroy normality itself. They don't realize how helpless and vulnerable they are.

I can see the connections. The patterns. Every person, every animal, every object I look at is attached to a luminescent thread that connects it to the rest of the world.

I can feel it when a connection is broken. It begins as a slight discomfort, but gradually the pain increases. If it is not repaired in time, the pain manifests into an explosion of agony caused by the suffering and misfortune of others. That is why I need someone to listen to me.

People don't understand. They don't see the connections or understand the number patterns, therefore they do not acknowledge the possibility that such things exist. They feel the urge to share every thought that passes through their heads, as they desire social interaction.

When people look at me, they see an abnormal child oblivious to the world around him. The natural instinct that craves normality pushes them to "help" me. To change me. To make me normal, and remove me from the real world until I can obtain a firm grasp on reality.

Because I communicate with numbers, I am automatically flagged as different, and in need of help. They want me to express my thoughts and feelings, unable to accept the fact that I don't need to. They say that they want to help me, and that speaking is one of the most vital things in life. If so, then why have I been able to keep quiet for so long?

I've been alive for six years, eighty-six days, four hours and thirty-three seconds and I've never said a word.

Speaking won't change the fact that I am standing in the pouring rain, drops of water cascading down my face. My body is bathed in the blinding light emitted by the headlights of a vehicle, and the screams of my brother and "father" echo throughout the night.

Speaking won't repair the broken thread that is causing me and so many others a massive amount of pain.

Speaking won't ease the explosion of agony that greets my body as the hard, solid hood of a car slams into my chest.

Speaking won't erase the feelings of fear, pain, sadness, helplessness, and anger that are etched into the faces of the two people standing above me as dark tendrils of unconsciousness coax me towards the comfort that they can provide.

Speaking won't keep me alive.

A.N. I hope you enjoyed my short little preface:) I tried my best to make it sound interesting without revealing much of the plot:) I apologize if any of it was too choppy (it was sort of meant to be a little confusing lol), and if it was hard to follow:) The next chapter will reveal the identity's of some of the characters I will be using. Thanks so much for reading, PLEASE REVIEW:) –Shiloh