The helicopter blades thundered like war drums as they circled the valley. Below, the village of Nad-e Ali lay in ruins—charred homes, shattered walls, and the stench of burnt flesh. Captain John Watson adjusted his rifle sling and scanned the perimeter. His orders were clear: protect the civilian consultant at all costs. That consultant stood fifty meters away, coat flapping in the wind, kneeling beside a body with the calm precision of a surgeon. Sherlock Holmes didn’t look up as John approached.\n\n"Not insurgents," Holmes said, voice cutting through the noise. "Look at the angle of the wounds. These people were executed in sequence. Professional work."

John crouched, pulse tightening. "Could be Taliban special cell."

Holmes turned, eyes sharp as glass. "Then why leave this?" He held up a spent cartridge—British-made, stamped with a serial code that shouldn’t exist here.\n\nA radio crackled. Lestrade’s voice: "Contact! Two kilometers east—moving fast."

John grabbed his weapon. "We need to exfil now."

Holmes didn’t move. "This is just the beginning, Captain. And if we walk away, thousands die for a lie."

The engines roared louder. Dust swirled. John had seconds to decide: follow protocol and extract Holmes, pursue the approaching contacts alone, or destroy the evidence and vanish before the truth got them killed.