Fine," Irene affirmed, hating the note of relief in it. Had anyone else appeared this morning, even someone else with two hearts or powers out of a storybook, she might have felt slightly less vulnerable than she did now. They could only kill her, if they wanted, but only Sherlock Holmes could see her. Disarm her, the way others couldn't. But it was true that there was no one she'd rather see right now, no one she trusted to make sense of this mess than he.
She didn't quite smile as he wandered away and then back, exploring his surroundings in much the same way a bloodhound might, but she thought about it. The house, which was small, was at the very least neat, though it was clear from the way the furniture had been moved that it neat wasn't its original state so much as a product of Irene's anxiety. The see-through, lacy robe she'd worn hanging on the door to the closet, in addition to her heels and the riding crop leaning against the wall provided all the explanation Sherlock would require as to what she'd been doing when she arrived and why she'd been without her most important possession.
She did her level best not to fidget, letting him figure out the lack of working water (and subsequently discover the jug she'd placed in what passed for a kitchen) as he bustled around making tea. Anyone else, she would've insisted on at least this small bit of control. But Sherlock Holmes wasn't anyone, and so she bounced lightly on the balls of her feet, but didn't hover near him. She gestured vaguely to the couch when he'd set the water boiling, and, though she knew he'd prefer her to cut to the chase, she leaned into her avoidance, as if to tell him the truth (or what they said was the truth) would be the same as breaking a spell.
"I know we've had our... squabbles," she said lightly. "But I need you to trust me. Even though what I'm about to tell you sounds like it's something out of a fairy story. I know how ridiculous it sounds. Believe me. I've felt like I was the only sane person here for days. I--" she dropped her head, and then took a breath. "Some of the people here can... do things. Impossible things. Not the way you can." She gestured to him, her hand turning on its wrist in the direction of his curls, indicating his head. "Things like... climbing up walls. Some of them think they're superheroes. It's been..." she shook her head hard and then added, in a much softer, more vulnerable voice, "I'm so glad you're here."