A/N: All right, people. You're about to read –thanks, BTW- no my very first story but my "Sherlock" first one. I shall warn you I don't speak English, but I'm testing it in English. I need you to help me with grammar and vocabulary and British words and that. And, of course, I need you to tell me how the story looks like.

Don't own "Sherlock".

Chapter One

A Strange Invitation

It was common to receive texts from Sherlock, but that one especially intrigued me when I read it, a Thursday afternoon, in late March.

Come to dine. 19h30.

Geroge's. Lestrade pays.

SH.

I couldn't resist and sent a text asking for that nonsense. I receive no response. It wasn't strange- he had been involved in a little and so curious case that kept him busy for a week. There's no need to say it was like holydays for me. Work was getting better every day and I got along very well with my boss and the other fellows. And I do love work with Sherlock, but a time just for me is always well received. Lestrade being implicated in this was, actually, the really intriguing matter, but I didn't give it more importance and continued my day, 'till six o'clock, when I got another text as a reminder of the commitment at seven.

At George's. Come,

Lestrade pays. Seems

interesting.

SH.

That "interesting" made me make a grimace. Wasn't a good sign, but I dressed up a bit and took a cab to the restaurant, a very nice and pleasant place, in the City. I went in and the usher asked me for a reservation. I had to admit I was there as a guest, and mentioned the name of Lestrade assuming, of course, that he really was paying for everything. There was his name, to my joy.

"There is someone waiting. " the usher said with a smile, "Please follow me."

He led me through the delicately lighted room, spacious and elegant. All tables were occupied by people who drank wine; talked softly and elegantly dressed ... I just couldn't stop watching my dirty shoes. On the site hung an atmosphere of peace, and a piece of jazz could be heard in the air, gently, through the speakers, beautifully hidden among the costly ornaments and curtains.

I was seated at a table for four, with fine dark red and white tablecloths. One of the drinks was already served, half-drunk, in front of me. A backpack, brown and tattered, was on the seat. The seats, like chairs, were prepared for two people to always stay in front of the other two. Preventing the strange tenant, I sat on the other side. I was distracted when someone touched my shoulder.

"Excuse me," said a voice "waiting for someone?"

I turned and found a young woman, badly dressed, with a jacket too big for her.

"Yeah, why?" I said, suspiciously. Her accent was definitely American.

"Because this table mine" she said, as if I was a fool. She pointed to the backpack, "See? That's mine."

"That, miss, proves nothing, if you pardon me," I said, offended by her arrogant tone. "I'm waiting here because I was told to. Have no guilt if there's been some kind of confusion... Thisis my table".

She chuckled.

"Nope, sir. I think you're wrong, but you seem convinced of what you say. Tell me, who called you?- Before I call the manager." And she sat with a smirk in the place where the bag was, while giving a sip of wine of her drink. That was the last straw for me, but I must admit I was upset by Sherlock, who hadn't presented himself at that moment, and by Lestrade, who either was there- And it was already eight with ten in the wall clock.

"Miss, I don't want to make a scene- Not here. Why not you better retire? Unless you're looking for-"

"No, sir. Who I'm looking for you don't mind, but to me either. Lestrade called you?" and crossed her arms on the table, paying attention to my face.

That was a big shift. I was going to babbling something when she interrupted, again.

"No..." she said thoughtfully, "No, no, it was someone else. How ...? Oh," said she, bringing her head back. Then she stood up and stretching her body on the table, put her face close to mine. I was frightened so I leaned back. "You have a very interesting nose, sir..."

"Please, sit back!" I said with a gesture of anger.

"As you wish," she said, leaning back, relaxed.

"Are you okay? How d'you know Lestrade?" I asked, puzzled, not knowing what to make of her. Her facial expressions were very changeable- suddenly she raised her yes toward a noise or stopped to stare at a stain on the tablecloth as my face was been examined at the dimly lit or she made a grin to blow her nose.

"Okay, thanks. Have you seen my pen?" she asked out of nowhere, fingering her jacket pockets.

"No" said I, even more surprised "How you know Inspector Lestrade?"

"I should have left it in the bathroom. I'll be back in no time, doctor"

And she slipped away, as quickly as she had arrived. I followed her with my eyes, as she dodged two waiters with platters full of food and a huge plant pot. It was when the familiar voice of Lestrade and his hand on my shoulder distracted me.

"Doctor! How are you? Can I ask what are you doing here?" He looked pretty confused, took off his gloves and sat where once stood the girl who just had runaway.

"Sherlock…" I began to explain nervously, but he laughed.

"Typical. Anyways, it's good to see you again, doctor" and shook my hand. He was very glad for his usual attitude, but hadn't much time to uspect because his phone rang, he apologized and went out to answer the call.

Soon after, as a mode of theatre comedy, I felt a voice in my ear.

"Drinking already, John? Usually Lestrade isn't that thirsty." I turned and smiled at Sherlock, standing next to me. My doubts about the entire situation attacked me again, and went to reclaim when he continued talking, very quickly, as usual, not letting me to say anything "I saw him outside, soon will join us- Nice place, this one! Don't ye think? Should come more often- The little case that I was working at had been settled, John" he added with a smile, looking for the seat front of mine. "Wasn't the dramatic end I expected but not always is- Perhaps you'd want to publish it in your blog in that so noveled-styleyou like-I just write it's done and how easy t'was- This cup is not yours" he remarked, pointing it with his forefinger, " And whose that?" he added, doing the same with the brown bag that the girl had moved before next to wall, for it not to stir.

"I have no idea ..." I answered.

"As usual." said he, codly. "Same owner, obviously. You saw him- you have questions. Man or woman?"

I had my mouth open.

"What? What, what is this, anyway?" I stammered "You know what I'm doing here? It seems like Lestrade didn't invite me"

"He knows I don't get out alone" he simply replied, taking the backpack, watching it carefully. Then, he smelled it, and was about to open it when I stopped him.

"Why you texted me then? What are you doing? That's someone else's! Sherlock, don't!" and I snatched the bag.

"Whose it, then?" repeated Sherlock.

"A crazy woman who says this her table too-"

"And the crazy woman, where is she?" asked Sherlock, craning his neck to look all around.

"You're here!" interrupted Lestrade, happily. He slapped both of us in the back, laughing. It was quite disturbing, actually. I smiled back and Sherlock responded enthusiastically-All enthusiastically you can expect from him, of course. "I can't stop noticing, Sherlock, you invited your friend too-"

"Because you wanted I to. Come on, what's that you so desperately want to show us? It's the owner of the bag, I presume?" and pointed to the backpack that was still beside me, squinting his eyes while looking at the Inspector. I handed it to him, trying to explain the situation.

"I think it's better to call security." I said, looking around for any sign of the girl "This woman says this' her table… But it seems it is, actually" I said, when I saw the bag being identified by Lestrade.

"Where is she?" he asked, smiling " You'll love her, Sherlock. Let me sit, do you want?"

"She!" I said aloud.

"I doubt it," said Sherlock, ignoring me, "but go on, tell me why" and clasped his fingertips, not moving at all from his seat.

"You wanna know, don't you?" Lestrade mocked him, without bothering in concealing his satisfaction.

"Many things, like why you insist on showing off a squalid woman from another continent"

"'Squalid'?"

The three of us turned around, and "crazy rucksack" was standing behind Holmes. No one saw her get there, even me! She was quite amused by the comment of the private detective, who got relaxed when he saw she hadn't been offended.

"Hello, Inspector." added the girl "You're cold, should've take your coat. Who are these two gentlemen, who you wanted to introduce me?" she said, smiling, and putting her hands on her hips.

I tried to apologize for our misunderstanding when she interrupted me to say that nothing mattered. I kept quiet with shame, but Sherlock turned to see her up and down, finding her in such of ungainly pose, that I almost could see a shadow of scorn in his blue eyes.

"Is this," said to Lestrade, with cruel sarcasm "what you wanted to show me?"

"And he is…?" said the young lady, angrily, but her face suddenly changed its expression.

"I regret this," the inspector apologized to the girl, turning to Holmes with eyes crackling anger "I'm not working but remember your manners with the ladies"

"Excuse me, is true." he said, getting up to sit beside me. "Hope you can forgive my behavior, I'm irritable, that's all" sighed, with irony.

Lestrade and the girl sat down the other side. The inspector took her hand, and I got scared at the thought they were related in some way. Sherlock's eyes narrowed.

"Dear... I'm sorry. He is Sherlock Holmes," Lestrade said, stretching a hand to point him out "but you should already have found it out, and he's Dr. John Watson... Obviously."

The "obviously" bothered me a bit but I didn't care much at the moment.

"So ..." began Holmes, but Lestrade stopped him.

"Sherlock, John, she's my niece- Irene Adler."

A/N: Don't be rude, please. If you don't understand something, tell me, please. Thanks and review!