Right well, err, since there are so (!) few Miami Vice fanfictions I thought I'd have a stab at it. I mean how hard can it be? (Chock snorted laugh).

I don't own the rights to Miami Vice so please, please, don't sue, ta. I own series 1 on box set but nothing more. (He he).

Here are some random bits of thought from Sonny after he has just turned up in the office and had guns pulled on him. This is set in the final episode in the 'Burnett trilogy' where Sonny looses his memory and becomes, for real, his alter-ego, Sunny Burnett.

The Guns

That's my name. Right there, written on that locker. C-R-O-C-K-E-T-T, I read the letters one by one, say the name in my head as if I mean it. All the things that are inside it I see in my mind. I reach out as if to put my hand in my pocket for the key, then realise that the cloths I'm wearing aren't my own. I turn to the office double doors and push inside, my journey finally at an end, I'm home, safe. I spot my desk, paperwork untouched. I never even the noticed the stony silence that fell as I walked over slowly.

All their burning eyes fell on me. And a dozen guns cocked ready to fire. I never saw myself ever being on the 'other side'. I never saw myself raising my hands to say, 'don't shoot', to my own friends. Friends who I'd have taken bullets for, one of them I tried to put bullets into. I turned slowly, trying to catch someone's eye. They all stared through me; I was now a case-file not a person. I now knew what it felt like to look down the barrel of the lawman's gun.

No one needed to say anything; it was a 'read-your-mind' moment. I looked at Gina, her hazel eyes were like ice. Eyes I'd gazed into as I'd kissed her during hot, sticky Florida nights. Switek, easily my replacement if I go down for this, raises the gun inline with my chest. We were all trained to shoot to kill. We, no... Me and Them.

I could remember everything. Trudy's nickname. Making me think of her as 'big booty' again nearly made me smile. I could hear my own voice say my arresting line, as if my catch-phrase, 'freeze, Miami vice!' And Tubbs voice too, telling me everything is 'cool man', in his infamous Jamaican accent. And Elvis' trademark growl. All these things that had somehow become lost to me; they now had come back. And I had landed myself in the thick of it.

Not a sound could be heard from the people I had called friends. The guns did the talking in the deadly language of their own.

So what did you think? Commenters and critics equally welcome!