A/N: I have no idea how Twitter works. So I might have gotten some lingo wrong at the beginning.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the works of the show, the movies, or the books of the Sherlock Homes series'. All rights belong to their respected owners.

"I am lost without my Boswell."

-A Scandal in Bohemia by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

When the boys returned, Sherlock found them deep in conversation about how Liam already had his own Twitter account, and almost three hundred followers.

Well, I suppose every good detective needs a blogger.

His blogger, however, was nowhere to be seen, leaving Sherlock to listen in on the boys' conversation.

"So, I usually tweet every three days- keeps things consistent so I keep getting followed, and also allows for more posts for somebody to share with their friends."

"And people just follow you for talking about your life? No matter how boring it is?"

Liam rolled his eyes. "I'm going to pretend that I didn't hear that insult. And yes. Most people assume that if they follow your tweets, then you'll follow theirs. Payment for fans, I suppose. Same goes for Youtube and some Facebook users. But I don't work like that. I only follow the interesting people."

"And how many of them are there?"

Liam laughed. "Before I met you guys? Maybe fifteen. Now with you guessing my life story, your dad scolding you for it, and some random person playing the violin in that room over there-" This caused Hamish to scowl. He had almost forgotten about that violin. "-I don't think I've ever seen as curious a family except on the telly!"

Suddenly the violin stopped, and the doorknob twisted. Hamish groaned, Oh why did she have to stop her practicing now? No doubt, Hamish assured himself, she'll come waltzing in here and start being all "Little Miss Perfect" to Liam, and then what rut will be in then?

And she did just as Hamish predicted, gracefully ushered herself from the bedroom and closed the door shut behind her with a quick snap of her wrist- why she did it in this way, Hamish had no idea, but he figured it had something to do with the fact that a stranger only a year older then themselves was in the home.

Isabel's face lit up when she saw the boy. Oh good, somebody not overly-brilliant or related to me to talk to. At this point, she didn't care if he was dull. But talking to her parents wasn't an option (and talking to Hamish didn't even register in her head) and she had to talk.

Just like she had to be normal.

The boy was cute, just as she had hoped when she heard his laugh. That was the thing that told her it was safe to come out, his laugh. It had been friendly and loud and told her the only thing she need to know: He wasn't like Hamish and Father. And that was what she feared, being friends with somebody like them.

Medium brown hair and dark green eyes. His facial features were pixie or fairy like, but boyish, though his nose was thin and sharp and didn't fit in with the rest of his features. He reminded her of Peter Pan, though more from an older cartoon rather than the newer movies.

It didn't take long for her to realize that the hair and nose would resemble Lestrade's when he was younger, and no doubt his other features came from his mother.

Dear God, that would be so creepy if she developed a crush on him and he looked exactly like Lestrade.

"Hullo," she said quite cheerfully and gave a small wave, before bounding off to the kitchen.

"Um… hello?" Liam said back, his eyebrows scrunching in confusion. He turned to Hamish. "Does that… happen often here?"

"What, Isabel skipping in and about the flat? No. She just wanted to see what you look like." He started to follow his sister off to the kitchen.

"Oh." Liam's cheeks flushed a light pink color. "And that's it?"

Hamish glanced back at him. "Well, yeah. You have sisters, right? Half-sisters, I know, but sisters all the same."

"Well, yeah." Liam mimicked, slightly annoyed. "But I don't hang out with them; I used to live with my mom, not Dad's ex-wife."

They found Isabel rummaging through the pantry, moving boxes around until she victoriously pulled out a trail mix bar. When she saw Hamish and Liam, she waved the bar in the air.

"Want one?"

Hamish shrugged. "Don't feel like eating today."

Isabel glared. "You know what Dad says about you not eating."

"Fine." He snapped and snatched the snack out of her hand. "I'll eat it then."

She snorted. "You'll just spit out whatever you eat later."

"Nobody cares as long as I don't throw it up."

Isabel rolled her eyes and pulled out two more snacks, and tossed one to Liam.

"I'm Isabel, Hamish's older sister, by the way."

Liam still looked confused. "You're older then him? By how much?"

Isabel shrugged. "Ten minutes."

This caused the boy to nod. "Ah. Twins."

Hamish rolled his eyes. "Obviously."

"Shut it, Hamish." The other two snapped.

"And you always hate when I complain about being ganged up against."

Isabel rolled her eyes again then turned back to Lestrade's son. "Didn't quite catch your name." The deductions were already settling back in, now that she wasn't playing her violin and she had a new person to analyze. Most likely a family name, common among most families to inherit a father or grandfather's name- just look at Hamish. Hamish Sherlock Watson-Holmes. Lestrade's last son, but not from his first wife- he doesn't show up in the pictures of Lestrade's desk of his three children. But he's not a love child. Ah, Lestrade's new wife. How long ago did he marry her? Eight years? Ten? Hm. Either way, that marriage is undoubtly over.

"Ah, William- but unless you're my mum, most people call me Liam."

"William Lestrade, huh?"

"How'd you know-"

"That you were Lestrade's son?" Isabel shrugged, hoping that Hamish didn't show off his abilities too much. "You look a bit like him."

Liam nodded. "And, are you like-?"

Isabel grimaced. So he had shown off. Nice going Hamish. "No. I never have been and I never will be like Hamish, and I prefer to keep it that way."