Her smile is lopsided, almost a bit sad. "Have you forgotten? I was dead to begin with. This is just in a more literal sense. I have to say that coping with the blood lust is a bit of an .. adaptation for me." Though she clearly hasn't tried very hard, given the people she fed on, on the way over. At the very least she's retained some sort of moral code - no children, no women (unless they approached her). In some ways she was unchanged.

Irene swallows a relieved sigh, nodding. "And it shouldn't be difficult to keep John away from him, then?" It was a pointed question. This is your responsibility, Sherlock. She's trusting you with this. Or at least, she would be, except her gaze slides from his eyes, his high cheekbones to a point lower.. His pulse, beating quietly against his neck.

Absently, her tongue traced her lips.