"Yes, I did just arrive," he answers as he's busy making sure that Sherlock has his tea just the way he likes it- exactly the way he likes it. "But it's nothing we can't sort out later. First, a proper cup of tea." Later, when he's sure Sherlock's alright, for when he's sure that within a few days, maybe even just a few weeks, he'll be back to his strange, but genial charming self. And tea because where he's been, a good cup of tea was hard to find, so technically he's also indulging himself.
Milk and no sugar for Sherlock. Milk and sugar for himself. And he carefully brings the cups over, makes sure that the cup's handle is facing the right way for when Sherlock takes hold of it. And it's hard, so hard for him not to look down at his brother with a critical eye, because it's already so very easy to tell that he's beginning to crack around the edges. Question is of course, what caused it this time around. Couldn't be everything. His little brother's a bit tougher than that.
And then of course, there's John Watson - the man who obviously has a dislike for him. He decides to touch upon that later. Instead, he decides on comfortable silence - at least until one of them decides to break the ice.