ysabetwordsmith: (Schrodinger's Heroes)
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This story fills a square on my second card for the [community profile] cottoncandy_bingo fest. This fest encourages people to create and share material focused on what is variously called fluff, schmoop, gentle fiction, light reading, comfort reading, positive thinking, chicken soup for the soul, or anything else that offers a fun alternative to usual run of sex, violence, and angst of modern media. I'm hoping to attract some new readers for my writing.

The following story belongs to Schrodinger's Heroes, featuring an apocryphal television show supported by an imaginary fandom. It's science fiction about quantum physics and saving the world from alternate dimensions. It features a very mixed cast in terms of ethnicity and sexual orientation. This project developed with input from multiple people, and it's open for everyone to play in. You can read more about the background, the characters, and a bunch of assorted content on the menu page.

This is a crossover with BBC Sherlock. You can read how these characters found each other in "THE Woman" and formed a team in "Texas Sunrise," "Seeing Things," "Fighting Through the Fog," and "Still Alive." The sentient coffee table is introduced in "Getting a Room."


Fandom: BBC Sherlock and Original (Schrodinger's Heroes)
Prompt: Favorite
Medium: Fiction
Summary: John gets back his favorite gun that he thought he'd never see again. Then Ash shows him hers.
Content Notes: Fluff. Domestic. Guns as security blankets. Cleaning rituals. Favors for friends. Team bonding.


"Smoke and Thunder" Part 1


"Package for you, John," said Chris as he set a box on the table. It was about the size of a hardbound book, wrapped in plain brown paper. Chris sorted the rest of the mail into everyone's cubbyholes.

"I, uh, didn't order anything," John said. Curious, he opened the package. Inside a sturdy case, packed in foam, lay a SIG P229 pistol. He picked up the gun, turning the familiar weight in his hands. It felt good to hold one again. He'd carried one just like this during his army days.

Then John noticed a faint swirl in the black Nitron finish. Not just any service pistol -- this was his gun.

"Here's the paperwork that goes with it," Ash said, laying a folder on the table.

"How, why," John stammered.

"How: I looked up your serial number in your army file, found the serial number of the service pistol issued to you, then tracked it down," Ash said. "Why: I thought you might appreciate a little something familiar in a strange new place."

"Yeah," John said on a breathy note. "That, that's good. Thank you."

"Anyway, the gun is original but didn't come with all the spare parts, so some of the kit's new. I figured you'd want options," Ash said. "Come to my room if you want to strip down; I've got cleaning gear."

So John followed Ash to her room. "I should buy ammunition," he said. "I'll need to spend some time on the shooting range; I'm a bit out of practise."

"We have 9mm and .40 S&W in stock -- Chris is a Smith & Wesson man. If you want the .22 LR or the .357 SIG then you'll need to order those," Ash said. She brought out a box of cleaning supplies and set them on the coffee table. "Oh, by the way, this is a person." She tapped lightly on the wooden surface. "Coffee table, this is John Watson. John, coffee table."

"Um," said John. "Hello?"

Ash chuckled. "Don't worry, coffee tables don't talk much," she said.

John decided to ignore the implications of a sentient coffee table, and instead immersed himself in the familiar ritual of caring for his gun. First the cleaning, then the greasing. The gun will hold exactly as much lube as it needs, and it needs as much as it will hold, he reminded himself. He put the slide in place and wiped off the excess grease.

The weight in his hand was a comfort. Some people might find it odd to think of a gun as comforting, but John always had. This had gotten him out of some very tight situations.

John sorted through the spare parts and accessories in the layer of the case below the gun itself. "Ought to get the armourer's tool kit for this," he said aloud.

"Good idea," Ash said. "Talk to Bailey about your budget."

"... what?" John said. He hadn't thought about money.

"World doesn't run on candy wrappers, John," Ash said. "Alex funds the team. Bailey keeps the books. You're on the team, you get paid. Heroes shouldn't have to be bums." Then she set her own gun down on the table and unwrapped it.

* * *

Notes:

The SIG P229 is a version of the SIG P229, one of several closely related types of service pistol issued by the British Army.


[To be concluded in Part 2 ...]
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