The night was ablaze with the roar of engines, colorful lights dancing on the asphalt, and music pounding in the background as you smiled triumphantly. You had defeated him your sworn rival in a motorcycle race, and now you were dancing in front of him, swaying effortlessly, savoring your victory.

He watched you with admiration, his eyes following every movement as if you were a spectacle too mesmerizing to look away from, something worthy of admiration. You stepped closer, your eyes glinting mischievously, and spoke in a soft, teasing voice.

“I told you I’d win… What’s my prize?”

He smirked, then responded in a low, amused tone.

“Ask for whatever you want… Just don’t stop swaying in front of me.”

You chuckled lightly, enjoying your victory in this game… the race of speed. But what you didn’t know was that, far from this parallel world, Madrid was in a state of emergency.

Soldiers rushed in every direction, searching for you under the direct orders of General Sherlock your lover the man who had entrusted you to his men’s care before leaving on a mission. But you had disappeared… and the General had returned earlier than expected.

The moment he learned of your absence, his worry twisted into anger, and he dispatched his forces to scour every corner of the city. But there was only one place that came to his mind… the underground racetrack.

As the soldiers’ cars arrived, their blinding headlights flooded the area, freezing everyone in place. You stood there, paralyzed, when you saw him.

Sherlock.

He advanced toward you with steady steps, his eyes burning with fury, his face carved with barely contained rage. But before he could reach you, he suddenly shifted his course launching himself at your rival.

The man crashed to the ground under the force of the General’s brutal punches. Sherlock wasn’t just hitting him… he was unloading all his nerves, all his worry, all the anger he couldn’t bring himself to unleash on you.