Glancing around the flat as he walks towards the kitchen table, John spots his flatmate stretched out on the couch in the same position he had already adopted before the doctor's trip to the supermarket. A small smile lifts the corners of his mouth as he realises that some things never change and it seems Sherlock's ability to lie motionless on the couch for hours at a time is just such a thing.
Hefting the bags up onto the table top and pausing only to switch the kettle on, John begins the task of putting all the shopping away. This proves no simple task as already in the short time since his return Sherlock has filled the fridge, counter tops and cupboards with random assortments of experiments, chemicals and body parts. Finding somewhere safe enough to store the food is somewhat challenging and it takes longer than anticipated so that the kettle has already boiled before John gets a chance to grab two mugs and set about making the tea.
Normally John would be fighting down annoyance and an overwhelming urge to shout at his flatmate about the squalor in the kitchen but all he can think of now is that he is just glad that Sherlock is home. It's almost comforting having the flat reduced to the chaotic mess that John had always associated with his flatmate and therefore with 221B itself and for now he was content to let Sherlock's untidiness slide without so much as a comment.
It was a mere six weeks since Sherlock's miraculous return from the dead and to John it felt almost as though he had stepped back in time, that Sherlock had never been away, as the flat took on the reassuringly familiar atmosphere that had been missing for the long years and months of his absence. Almost, except for the heavy feeling of dread that settled in John's stomach every time he woke from sleep or returned to the flat and feared that he would find it had all been a dream, that his best friend was no longer in the flat, that he was still dead.
As he turns towards the living room carrying two mugs of steaming hot tea John takes the opportunity to study his flatmate, the closer he gets the more obvious the weight that Sherlock has lost while away becomes, a new resolve to ensure that his stubborn friend would eat at least a little every day settled in John's mind. Sherlock may not prioritise looking after his 'transport' but that doesn't mean the doctor would idly stand by and allow his friend to become ill.
The detective lay in a familiar position, John had seen it many times before and it spoke clearly of a state of mind that was unique to Sherlock, not asleep but not fully awake either as he delved deep into the inner recesses of his mind for information stored there in a way only Sherlock knew how. John knew that Sherlock was in his mind palace and whilst completely motionless with his eyes closed and fingers steepled below his chin, he would be aware of his surroundings enough to know that John was home and bringing him tea, so wordlessly John placed the mug down on the side table next to Sherlock's head and then settled himself down in his own chair to enjoy his tea.
John was surprised a moment later to hear the sound of his friend's voice "Thank you John" and turned his head in Sherlock's direction just in time to see the detective swing his legs off the couch and bring himself upright claiming the mug of tea in one fluid motion.
Since when has Sherlock ever said thank you?!
"You're.. um.. welcome" came John's reply, an expression that was part smile and slight frown as he considered the thought that maybe some things do change after all.