When the emergency services arrived, Sherlock was pulled out of the mangled cab basically unharmed.

Unharmed physically at least. Sherlocks tired and aching body collapsed in the back of an ambulance as a blanket was placed around his narrow shoulders to maintain warmth. It didnt take him long to remember that he was not alone in the cab. Hamish was with him, cuddling up into Sherlocks chest as they rode home in the icy night. But Hamish was not with Sherlock in the ambulance. Or in any of the other ambulances. Until the officers went back to the car. Sherlock knew what had happened, but didnt want to think of that. A chill shuddered down his spine as he watched the two ambulance officers retrieve a small, still figure from the wreckage. The figure was Hamish. Sherlock ran as quick as he could, and pushed the officers aside to get to his son. Hamish was lying deathly still on the stretcher as Sherlocks eyes started to fill with tears. He buried his ebony curls in Hamishs jumper as the ambulance officers tried to pry him from his sons cold hands. Hamish was attached to many a machine to try and restart his heart. As his son was placed into an ambulance, LeStrade had appeared behind Sherlocks shaking body, and was removing him from the scene. A few days had passed, and Sherlock and John were finally allowed to go and see their son. He was still alive, but barely hanging on. The pair were guided to his room, and were greeted with one of the saddest sights either of them had ever seen. Hamishs pale little body was lying still in the hospital bed. He had tubes in his mouth and nose, and was connected to a beeping machine. Upon sight, Johns eyes welled with tears, and he began to shake. Sherlock managed to hold back any emotion he had, and walked quietly into the room. The atmosphere in the room was horrid. It reminded Sherlock of his childhood, Alone and cold in an alley, after he had run away from his parents. He hated memories. Especially painful ones. But as much as he wanted to forget, he would never forget this day. John had taken the seat nearest to Hamish, and was wiping the tears from his eyes. He looked a Hamish, and all the machines still keeping him alive. How could this have happened? What had Hamish ever done, to deserve barely holding on to his young life. After a few hours of silence, Sherlock guided john out of the hospital and back to the flat. He knew this would be difficult for john. It would also be difficult for him. But he knew, that at this point, he needed to keep john stable. The second they had reached the top floor of their flat, Johns tears burst from his eyes, and he collapsed on the floor. He wailed and cried for Hamish to be okay. Sherlock turned and looked at john, shaking and crying on the ground.

He went over to his friend, and sat in silence with him. The pain in Johns heart was unbearable, and he did not know how much more he could take. He stood very slowly and shakily with Sherlock and just fell into his arms. The tall mans thin arms wrapped around johns shoulders, and pulled him closer. Sherlock knew what would happen to Hamish. He had snuck a look at his chart when john was sitting at Hamishs side. Hamish had but a few hours to live. And Sherlock knew that at the moment he had been hugging John, their son had left this world.