John breathed uneasily as the boy he hardly knew palmed his crotch and breathed heavily down his neck. John's eyes were locked on the door handle, praying no one would walk in.

"Sherlock, we're dead if they find us together. It's well past light's out. I'm going to have to-"

"Sh," Sherlock said pressing a finger to John's lips. "You're not going anywhere," Sherlock said pressing a kiss to John's chest as he worked open the remaining buttons of his shirt. John removed his tie and threw it over the chair, knowing resistance was futile with the boy. John rubbed his forehead and let out a distressed sigh.

John lay in Sherlock's bed, wondering where he'd gone wrong in his life. He should have never applied to Harrow in the first place, is what he should have done. It was tearing his family apart with financial strain and he wasn't achieving the marks to justify such an expensive school. Moreover he'd unintentionally become the house's patron fag-boy.

John bit at his lip and looked down at Sherlock's mop of curls. He didn't expect a boy like Sherlock to get sucked into the tradition of fagging. Though it did have its benefits, John was often too tired at the end of the day after running errands and serving his fag-masters. He had five that had claimed him and fought over him constantly.

Most of them wanted him for slave-labour. Some were kinder than others and only one wanted him for perverse reasons. John was convinced he wouldn't stay with Sherlock for long. The boy enjoyed rubbing up against him and asked for little else; it made John uncomfortable to say the least.

Sherlock had him for Friday evenings, Wednesday mornings, and Saturday afternoons. It was the only time John wasn't forced to shine shoes, scrub floors, or cook anything, but he wasn't sure he liked being kissed and touched by another boy.

Sherlock continued to grope John through his trousers and John began to feel a hard-on coming on. He shied away from Sherlock's lips that were suction cupped to his neck like a whelk.

"Alright, that's enough," John said as he pulled away Sherlock's hand.

"You're afraid you'll enjoy it," Sherlock stated in his abnormally low voice.

"I don't enjoy it. I like girls, Sherlock."

"What difference does it make who touches you?"

"A lot," John said as he shifted to get more comfortable as Sherlock laid on his chest.

"You haven't decided yet," Sherlock said with a sigh.

"I'd rather not have a fag-master, to tell you the truth."

Sherlock ran his fingers across John's chest. "Why not me? I don't ask much of you."

"I don't want everyone to think I'm gay."

"They won't," Sherlock said, tracing John's sternum with his finger tips. "The others run you ragged."

"It should settle down once I've chosen."

"It won't."

"And if I choose you? Then what?"

"I'd set you free."

"No you wouldn't," John scoffed.

"Wouldn't I?" Sherlock sat up and looked John directly in the eye. "John Watson, as I see it, you owe me nothing." Sherlock looked down at his hands. "If anything, I should be your fag."

John felt a pang of guilt for fighting with the only boy that had shown him an ounce of kindness since he entered the hallow halls of Harrow.

"I don't mean to be cruel," John tried to elaborate.

"You care too much about what others think, when I know if you'd just give me a chance-"

"You're right; I care about what others think. Can't we leave it at that?" John felt his skin become flush. "Can't we just be friends?"

"I don't have friends."

"I wonder why," John grumbled.

"All I ask is that you be my assistant. Help me take my mind off things." Sherlock reached out and gripped John's hand. He opened John's hand and drew a SH on his palm with his fingernail. He closed John's hand, brought his fist to his lips, and pressed a kiss to John's knuckles.

John felt his heart flutter and he quickly pulled his hand away. "I'm not gay," he choked out.

Sherlock straddled his thighs. "Haven't you ever been curious? Wondered what it might be like?" Sherlock asked as he ran his hands up and under John's undershirt. John shook his head but he'd been wondering what it would be like to touch Sherlock for weeks.

Sherlock's firm arse kept brushing up against his crotch. John licked his lips and furrowed his brows. He narrowed his gaze in on Sherlock's groin. John rubbed the tips of his fingers together as he thought it through.

John reached out slowly and barely pressed the pads of his fingers to Sherlock's clothed erection. Sherlock let out a low erotic moan which startled John and made him worry about the door once more.

Sherlock quickly undid his zip, fished out his cock, and exposed himself for John.

"Touch it, please."

John stared, wide eyed at the other boy's penis. This went well beyond what John was comfortable with. John felt filthy for being so turned on. He was convinced it was the thrill of possibly being caught with another boy that had him going.

John's breath hitched when he felt Sherlock's smooth skin between his fingertips. He cupped his hand around Sherlock's shaft and held him for a moment. John's heart was pounding in his ears and his mouth was completely dry.

Sherlock rolled his hips forward and thrust into John's hand. John watched in a daze as Sherlock pumped in and out of his loose grip. Sherlock closed his eyes and bit at his lower lip. He grabbed John's hand with his own and steadied him as he started sliding in and out of his fist faster.

John could feel himself poking Sherlock through his thin trousers and Sherlock was definitely taking note. He pointedly rubbed his arse against John's bulge, causing John to squirm.

The throbbing ache became too much to bear and John pleaded for him to stop. Sherlock took pity on him and held still on his lap. John caught his breath and winced.

"Come with me," Sherlock panted.

"Where?" John asked with a grimace.

"Orgasm."

"Oh," John snorted a laugh and covered his face with his hand.

Sherlock let out a breathless laugh. "Idiot," he said, shaking his head. Sherlock leaned down and John met his lips with his own. John ran his tongue over Sherlock's full bottom lip, before dragging it into his mouth.

Sherlock's eyes fluttered shut and he let out a content sigh.

John drew in a sharp breath as Sherlock pulled away and started aggressively trying to rip his trousers off.

"Hold on," John said, smacking his hands away. "Let me." John couldn't imagine what the lads would say if they saw the crotch of his trousers had been ripped out after he'd spent the night in Sherlock's room.

John had barely gotten his zip down before Sherlock started sliding his hand down the front of his pants. John curled his toes and felt his heart race as Sherlock began groping him without any sort of barrier.

He quickly released John from the confines of his pants and gripped him firmly.

When their cocks met for the first time, the feeling was electric. Sherlock held them together and rubbed up against him with wonderful friction.

John lay with his arms above his head, cursing, and writhing. He had never been so horny in his life; he thought he was going to die of sheer elation. Then Sherlock's lips met his at the right moment and John was certain he'd died and gone to heaven.

He snogged Sherlock fiercely, gripped his bare arse, and guided him forward. John spread his legs further and thrust up into Sherlock's hand. Sherlock's breathing became heavy and ragged; his pumping became more and more erratic.

He stopped suddenly and John watched as a stream of cum oozed out of Sherlock's cock. Sherlock let out a shocked gasp as if he'd had a religious experience. He looked down at John and blinked a few times.

John went into shock as Sherlock bent over and wrapped his lips around his cock. John's brain went numb. He'd never felt so much pleasure at once before. It was borderline painful.

Sherlock's mouth was warm, wet, and beautiful. John felt the very life sucked out of him as Sherlock sucked him off. He was euphoric in a matter of seconds and not long after he was beginning to feel an intense orgasm building.

"Sherlock!" he screeched as he gripped Sherlock's shoulders. John jerked his hips up, Sherlock gagged, and the door swung wide open.

John scrambled to conceal himself, Sherlock spat out a wad of semen, and Anderson, the house prefect, would forever be haunted by the image of Sherlock Holmes giving John Watson head.