The records he had in this world weren't even mostly complete. John had been to doctors ever since his return from the war. Which had been a bit of a disaster as far as tours went but he hoped he didn't have to go into that. Martha had said she wasn't a therapist, so he didn't want to start off on a bad note. He'd already made things awkward with Anatoly and honestly had no idea how to make it right. If he screwed up with Martha he was on his own, and so far on his own hadn't done him much good at all.
He sat where she'd invited him to with a nod and rested his hands in his lap. The expression in his eyes was still sad even when he smiled, Sherlock's second death had taken it's toll on him. He was a bit stiff as he sat down but his face didn't change much in reaction to it. It was mostly a mental thing, psychosomatic as his original doctor had called it.
His grey blue eyes were more tired and worn then they had been in the past. His eyes shifted toward the place he'd last seen the body of his friend and then back to Martha warily. "Not sure where to start really." Every doctor worked differently, so he gave her a basic run down of the medical things he'd been through during the war including having been shot in the shoulder. The bullet had grazed the subclavian artery and should have been life ending, but he was rescued by his orderly and another doctor. Then he was removed from the war.
"After that I was referred to a therapist, but I'm not sure she actually wanted to help me. Really that's the reason I'm here, I'd like your opinion. I've already been talking to someone to help on the emotional side, but still sometimes I can't even think straight." He paused and frowned. "I can barely get sleep anymore. I can't do this much longer." He tried to keep the emotional side of things to the minimum the best he could, but he felt if she had some of his history aside from just what prescriptions he'd been on it might help in the diagnosis.