A/N: Hi again! I'm terribly sorry I haven't updated this story for so long, I was so very busy! But now everything has cooled down a bit, so I'm back for good *smirks*

This chapter is relatively short, because I really wanted to upload it, just to let you know I haven't forgotten all about this.

Anyway, here's chapter 4!

He had known Sherlock Holmes would be intolerable. However, even a trained Kingsman like himself was not ready for someone like Sherlock.

The man seemed to draw danger to himself. In the ten hours Harry had been with him since he'd arrived in the flat, the detective managed to set two different parts of the flat on fire, blow up a hole in the ceiling and almost poison John's tea. The last of which was by accident, or so he claimed.

He lied down on his bed tiredly. It wasn't much of a bed, really, more like a lumpy old mattress that's just a couple of feet above the floor. He'd had worse, but the circumstances made him wish for a better room.

He let himself close his eyes, just for one moment. His headache was tormenting him and he was craving some rest, but the detective seemed determined to keep him up.

He realized he had fallen asleep only when the sound of three knocks woke him up. Someone came to visit Sherlock. The question was – were they invited?

The knocking rhythm was right, but Harry jumped up from his bed nonetheless. He managed to make it upstairs just as Mrs. Hudson opened the door.

The moment he saw the guns his instincts kicked in. He pulled Mrs. Hudson and placed her behind him and grabbed his umbrella. He put the handle around the first man's nape and threw him at the wall. The blow was hard enough to knock him out, and Harry swiftly pulled his umbrella back to him, just in time to pull out his gun and shoot the second man that attempted to enter the flat.

The sound of the shot was loud enough to attract attention from upstairs. Harry could hear John cried out in surprise and two sets of steps hurrying downstairs and knew he was running out of time before Sherlock was in their line of fire.

Three men were about to enter the flat. In a swift move Harry took a step outside and kicked the first man in the groin. Once he was bending over he shot the man behind him, ducked in time to dodge the third's bullet and then shot him as well. He went back to shoot the first one, completely unaware of the mess we was making outside the flat.

"What the hell happened?!" John cried as he reached the front door.

Sherlock was right behind him, and they both stared at the bodies in shock. It only took them a couple of seconds to get downstairs, and yet the threat was already neutralized.

Without looking at the two, Harry pulled out his new phone from his jacket's pocket and called the only number that was on it without bothering to close the door.

"Five men. All armed. I need some cleaning up here," he said into the phone, not bothering with an introduction.

"On its way. Do not open the door to anyone," Mycroft Holmes said through the phone, and Harry hanged up. He glanced at the still-open door and smirked to himself. Small victories.

He looked at the two men, who were still paralyzed in shock. Mrs. Hudson had already fled to her room. Watson was moving his stare between him and the bodies, not sure what shocks him more. Holmes' eyes were focused completely on his, and Harry tried to decipher their look. Was it fear? Surprise? Loathing? And maybe just a bit of… Admiration?

The Kingsman smoothed his suit and looked at the two of them calmly. "Don't open to the door to anyone," he said flatly, and started to talk back to his room.

"No, wait a minute," John said, and Harry stopped and turned around. "How did you do that?"

"Like Mr. Holmes had told you, I've had very special training."

"No one takes out five people so quickly without even blinking," John said, still staring at him in disbelief.

"You're right," he replied. "No one… But me."

He turned back to walk to his room, but this time it was the detective that held him back.

"Does it ever bother you?" the detective asked.

He turned around again. "What does?"

"That you've taken so many lives. Does it weigh on your conscience, or have you lost it a long time ago?"

He studied him for a second. No, he didn't ask that because he can't cope with killing people. He's too cold to care about that. This was purely at attempt to melt him down a bit.

Oh, how naïve other people are.

"Yes," he decided to reply, "Everything night before I go to sleep I think about all the lives that I've taken. And once I finish doing that, I put a plate of cookies and a glass of milk in the kitchen for Santa."

John chuckled once, but the amusement left his face as he realized what the real message was. Sherlock's eyes remained fixed on his, and the former tilted his head a bit, like a confused child. "Who are you, Harry Hart?"

"You two can go back to your business," Harry said, very deliberately ignoring the question. "I'll wait for the cleanup team."

"Actually, I think it's time for us to go home," the army doctor said, his eyes moving from the Kingsman just then. "She'll kill me for not going upstairs to update her sooner," he said with the faintest of smiles and went back upstairs.

Harry was left alone with the detective. The two sized each other up, and Harry couldn't help but wonder what other surprises were waiting for them.

"You hate my brother," the detective remarked, not even bothering to present it as a question.

Harry didn't reply. Mycroft was probably monitoring them with secret cameras hidden all over the flat, and the only reason he didn't send a team earlier was to make sure Harry was following the rules. Telling his employer he hates him wouldn't exactly help his condition. Although if he was his employer, what did that make him?

He didn't have to say anything, though. A small cunning smirk appeared on the detective's face. "You might not be as boring as I first imagined," he said in a satisfied tone.

Before Harry could contemplate if he should be relieved or concerned, a group of four men approached the flat. They all seemed quite surprised to find the flat's door opened.

"Mr. Holmes," one of the men asked, completely ignoring Harry, "Are you alright?"

"Oh, yes," Sherlock replied, his eyes still on Harry's, "Everything is under control."

A/N: Everything's under control, eh? *scratches chin thoughtfully* I wonder what Sherlock is planning for our poor Harry... He already has to keep him safe, so let's hope this wouldn't get him into too much trouble!

So what did you think? Did you like our new development? Do you think Sherlock will grow fond of Harry? More importantly - Will Harry actually tolerate Sherlock?

Thank you so much for following this story so far. I love you all to the moon and back! *grins and hugs*