A/N: Hello again! Remember me? You probably don't, since it's been so long since my last update. Terribly sorry for that, I write too many things at a time so I keep getting distracted. This chapter is a bit longer than usual as a sort of compensation to you.

Thank you so much for keeping up with this story for so long! And thank you for reviewing, it really means a lot!

So please welcome chapter 5!

When Harry woke up the next morning, at first he was content. His headache had almost completely faded away and he was feeling much stronger than yesterday. With everything that was going on, he didn't really have time to recover from, well, dying.

An instance later he was worried. Sherlock Holmes, Britain's biggest arsehole, let him sleep all night through?

He got up from his bed, tidied up a bit, and glanced at his image in the small mirror Mrs. Hudson had hung for him on one of the walls. His suit was a bit at places – that's what happens when you sleep in your suit. He couldn't afford himself to change before bed – trouble always comes when it's least convenient, so he had to make sure all times were convenient.

He hurried upstairs to Holmes' flat, getting more and more worried with each step. He knocked on the door at first, being polite as always.

"Mr. Holmes?" he asked and waited three seconds for a reply.

When one didn't come, he tried to open the door. Fortunately, it was unlocked, although that was also a bad sign. He stepped inside slowly, listening very carefully to his surroundings.

"Good morning," a bass voice said, and he immediately turned around.

He found Sherlock Holmes standing in his kitchen, dressed in some sort of a lab coat and lab goggles, holding something that looked awfully like a thumb above a burner.

"What are you doing?" he asked as calmly as he could, trying to sounds casual.

"Burning a thumb," the detective replied lazily.

"I strongly advise you not to do that," he said.

"And why is that?" Sherlock asked with a smirk, not looking at the burning thumb anymore.

"You might start a fire or burn yourself, and more importantly, it has an atrocious smell."

Sherlock stared at him for a moment, as if considering his options. Eventually he turned off the burner and put the tongs carelessly on the table, allowing the thumb to roll away from them a bit. Harry internally thanked his Kingsman training that had exposed him to things much more disgusting than that.

"I'm not burning it anymore. You can go now."

"So that you can entertain yourself by doing something even more dangerous?" Harry replied.

Sherlock gave him a toxic smile. "Now I'm bored to death and contemplating whether I should shoot the wall or you. What do you think would be more entertaining?"

Harry took in a deep breath, and with all the inner strength he had asked the question that made him feel his self-respect slowly descending. "What do usually do to keep yourself busy when you're bored? I'm sure there must be something safe you like to do."

Sherlock tilted his head like a curious child, but the look in his narrow eyes spoke far more than just curiosity. "You don't exactly strike me as the caring person, no offense," he added sarcastically. "So why do you try so hard to keep me safe?"

"I really do not care, no offense," he replied as sarcastically as the detective, "About you. But I have been given a task which I endeavor to complete, no matter how impossible you make it for me."

Sherlock blinked once as his eyebrows furrowed. "My brother's got something on you," he deduced. "I don't know what it is just yet, but there's something. There must be. It's the only logical explanation. But what is it that can scare you so much?"

The Kingsman's face remained a blank mask as always, but his eyes revealed a bit of his emotions. Just a small sparkle in them that informed Sherlock he was on the right trail which was gone in seconds. Harry hated the Holmes brothers, but the older one was worse.

There were three possible ways he could leave this job:

1. He would do as Mycroft Holmes says until Sherlock would be safe.

2. He would die protecting Sherlock.

3. He would rebel against Mycroft Holmes at whatever cost.

The result of each of these ways was uncertain, the most likely one of all being death. As Kingsman had taught him, nothing is as important as controlling your temper and staying a gentleman even when the circumstances make it difficult. But sometimes, being a gentleman wasn't doing what you were asked. Sometimes, it meant waiting patiently and calmly until the right chance to attack and to restore your honor.

From that moment, Harry Hart had a new plan.

"Mr. Holmes, you know I can't allow you to leave the flat," he suddenly said, speaking as if they were in the middle of a conversation.

"I never said anything about leaving the flat," the detective said with a frown, not yet catching on.

"It is would be an extremely dangerous and irresponsible thing to do, and you know I swore to your brother I'd keep you safe," Harry continued, giving Sherlock a penetrating look to send him a wordless message.

"Oh please, do you really think outside is more dangerous than inside?" Sherlock scoffed, finally realizing Harry's intentions. "Guns work just as well in both, so I might as well go outside for a walk."

"I'm afraid I can't allow that, Mr. Holmes," Harry insisted and moved his head ever-so-slightly towards the door in a micro-gesture to Sherlock.

"You can either stay or join me, but I'm leaving," Sherlock announced and stormed out of the flat in seconds.

Harry hurried up down the stairs after him, letting a small smirk on his face as he descended the stairs. He found the detective waiting by the door outside impatiently. "Mr. Holmes, look out!" he suddenly cried and hurried outside, closing the door behind him.

They stood in front of each other for a second in silence, each eyeing the other, waiting for the next move.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked in a much quieter tone than they've used before.

"I thought I saw someone approaching you, but I must've imagined it. I apologize for frightening you."

Less than a second later, his phone rang. Since only one person had his phone number, it wasn't too hard to understand who was calling him.

"Perhaps I haven't been clear enough. Keeping my little brother unharmed means keeping him inside his flat. The moment anything bad happens to him, I will personally put you in a room with your friends Merlin and Eggsy and activate the chip. Am I making myself clear?" Mycroft Holmes' furious yet collected voice came through the phone.

"As day," Harry replied nonchalantly and hung up the phone.

"Well?" Sherlock immediately asked.

"Whatever he has, it is inside the flat. Could either cameras or wires, no way of telling at the moment," he answered the unspoken question in a voice quite enough to not penetrate the flat's closed door.

"So there's a breach in his security," Sherlock completed his thoughts.

Harry opened the flat's door and gestured with his hand to Sherlock to enter. The latter gave him a small nod as he entered his flat. Harry entered after him and closed the door behind him.

"Would you like me to ask Mrs. Hudson to prepare you something to eat? Digesting might keep you entertained," Harry suggested, as if they were still having the same conversation from minutes ago.

"How about you make me something to eat?" the detective made a different suggestion with a sly smile. "I'm sure you're a better cook than you appear to be."

"If you insist," Harry obliged and began to ascend the stairs. You little prick¸ he thought, we just made a pact to betray your brother's trust, and you keep insulting me?

He opened the fridge as Sherlock lied down lazily on the sofa. There was almost nothing in it, but those three ingredients would have to do. He kept opening drawers until he found things that appeared remotely edible, and he gathered his ingredients on the kitchen table as he wondered what he could possible do with all of those random items.

A low thud was heard. It wasn't too loud, but it was loud enough for the Kingsman's trained ear. His eyes jumped up to search for the source of the voice. It seemed to come from Sherlock's bedroom. Another was heard, and this time Sherlock picked up on it too. The two exchanged glances, both agreeing on one thing – danger was coming. It didn't take the Kingsman long to understand how was the break-in possible – Sherlock had blown a hole in his bedroom's ceiling the day before. Harry wondered if the man had had any sleep since they first met.

Harry cursed himself under his breath for leaving his umbrella downstairs. He grabbed the first weapon he could see, which was unfortunately a pan. That, plus his ring and shoes, had to do this time. He moved stealthily towards the room and stopped as he heard the same noise for the third time. Alright, three versus one. I've had worse.

A shiver went down his spine when he heard the unmistakable sound of weapons being loaded and cocked. He made himself a mental note to never let his umbrella out of his sight again. He began to move back into the living room when he realized the detective was standing right behind him.

"One of them has a prosthetic leg," Sherlock whispered in his ear. "Another one isn't very familiar with their weapon of choice."

Harry gave him a firm nod. "Go to the kitchen and don't come back here until I say so."

"Oh, please," Sherlock scoffed.

"Do it now," Harry demanded.

He slowly backed away when he heard the detective mutter something that was very likely a curse as he went to the kitchen like he was requested. He pressed his back against the living room's wall, his face peeking into the hallway just enough to see the door.

It was opened silently, as the intruders clearly thought they had been quiet enough and still had the upper hand. Harry pulled his head away from the hallway and listened as the first man made his way outside the room. He didn't make his move just yet. He let the first man reach the end of the corridor before he struck – he had always preferred fights in open spaces.

He hit the man's face with the pan and sent his knee to the man's groin to eliminate him quickly. He put his hand up to protect his head from the bullets that were now flying in his direction and used his other hand to pull the man's gun. It was quite too heavy for his taste, but not something he hadn't used before. He backed away into the living room as the two intruders began to spray the hallway with bullets. He waited until they were seemingly done, and then took one calculated shot to the second man's chest. He missed and hit his gun-holding hand, which was a rather good alternative.

The man dropped his gun to the floor and bent over, holding his injured hand in the other one and swearing loudly. Harry tried to shoot the third man, but the latter was already pointing his own weapon at him so the former's shot merely scratched the man's shoulder. As he noticed the first man was beginning to come to his senses, he shot his head quickly. It caused quite a splatter of blood and earned him a look both disgusted and impressed from Sherlock, but it was the fastest way, and at that moment speed was all that mattered.

Harry needed to think, and he needed to do it quickly. Their guns wouldn't be as effective now that the sides are close to each other, but Harry still needed a way to neutralize the other side's weapon. He had a hand grenade in his pocket, but this chaos had started because of an explosion in the building – causing another one wouldn't be the smartest thing to do.

The second man came rushing forward, ready to have revenge for his injured hand. Unfortunately for him, he was facing the wrong enemy for that. The Kingsman swiftly grabbed his match's hand and squeezed it with all his force. The man fell to his knees in pain, which allowed the Kingsman to hit his head with the back of the gun. The man fell to the floor, unconscious, and Harry pushed the edges of his pants just slightly higher with his foot. That wasn't the man with the prosthetic leg, and neither was the first one, which meant the remaining man was.

"The left one!" Sherlock shouted to him, understating his train of thought.

Harry shot the man's left leg, knowing that the prosthetic leg wouldn't be of much use without the healthy one. The man fell to the floor screaming in pain, and Harry hurried to him. He kicked the gun from his hands and placed his right foot on the man's throat.

"Who sent you?" he asked in a deadpan voice that made it perfectly clear he wasn't afraid to apply pressure to the bloke's throat.

"I ain't telling you," the man replied, although his Irish accent narrowed down Harry's list of options.

The Kingsman leaned on his right leg, causing the man to make some very unpleasant noises as he tried to get air into his lungs. "Who sent you?" he asked again.

"Devlin!" the man whimpered, desperate to breath properly again.

Harry took his foot of the Irish's throat and let him take one deep breath before he shot his head.

He pulled out his phone and dialed the only number it contained. "Three men, sent by Devlin. Two dead, one unconscious."

"They're on their way," Mycroft replied with a sigh that indicated he was more tired than he was concerned and hung up the phone.

Harry slid his phone back into his pocket and walked back to the kitchen, to find a slightly shaken consulting detective in it. "When your brother's men get here, tell them to take care of the bloody hole in your ceiling. Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll have my morning shower."

He left the flat after that without waiting for a response from Sherlock. A small voice in his head told him that he should act more like a gentleman towards Sherlock, that he should pay respect.

The rest of his head answered that voice with some very unpleasant words.

A/N: Here's the action Kingsman is so full of! You didn't think everything was going to go so smoothly for our favourite Kingsman, now did you? *smiles cunningly*

And what was that? An alliance between Sherlock and Harry? *gasps theatrically* What would they do next? How can Harry rebel against Mycroft with that chip in his head?

All that and more will be answered in the next chapters of the story! But for now... Goodbye! *grins and waves*