Sherlock's own distraction was as clear to Irene as hers was to him, though she resisted the (powerful) urge to bring it up. Appearing here with no explanation and discovering that the multiverse was (evidently) real was one thing, but to do all of that and think that you'd recently died--
Irene clenched her back teeth, her fingers tightening more than was necessary around her cup. She was grateful for Sherlock's clearheadedness. That and the fact that he was choosing (mercifully) not to laugh in her face the way she'd laughed in Mr. Parker's the day that she'd arrived. For whatever reason, even if that reason was pure inability to do anything else, he was choosing to believe her, for now. And that was enough.
"That's right," she said, blowing a cool stream of air carefully across her teacup to disperse the steam. "There are those here who claim to be clever, but of course I don't believe them." The ghost of a smile flickered over her lips as she took a tentative sip of tea. "How could I." She knew, after all, what real cleverness looked like.
She settled (perhaps the slightest bit gingerly) on the couch beside him, giving him several inches of space despite her ridiculous desire to lean her shoulder against his. "And these presumably clever people have been here much longer. Some of them have been here for months, from what I can gather from the..." she waved a hand. "The not-internet. The network. I've mostly been watching. Learning names, if I can. And relationships. Though I admit there's little I understand, so far."