A/N: I am sososososo sorry, everything's been happening and school sucks so here is probably my worst fic to date.

ND

They were stuck in a cupboard in a boarding school and John could not honestly see a way out of this one. Sherlock had lost his coat somewhere in the principal's quarters and he and John were pressed into the supply closet of the art department, cleverly the ones with the developing chemicals – if they didn't get out soon, he'd pass out. Sherlock had his eye out the keyhole, his impossibly long legs bent in an impossible yoga move that made John's wander further away from their immediate danger than he liked. He was whispering to himself so quietly John couldn't hear, but he was hoping against hope that Sherlock had a plan, because now that they knew the school was cultivating children to eat, it was a little bit scarier.

"John, he's coming. John!" Sherlock whispered.

"What do you want me to do about it!" John said back.

"Moan. Right now moan." Sherlock called back frantically.

"Wh- nnnnnnnnng." John moaned, as Sherlock had just mouthed his slightly interested cock through his pants.

However, any sign that Sherlock was even slightly turned on was obscured by the fact that he now had his eye to the keyhole.

"It worked, John."

John slumped against the wall of the cupboard and sighed.

"We've got to go Sherlock. Before someone else comes."

"We can't John, they're having a meeting in the next room and we're five stories up."

"But he'll come back- Sherlock, what are you doing?"

Sherlock was undoing his jeans and pulling them down, quite noisily.

"Passing the time."

And John's back arched as Sherlock took his penis in mouth and sucked. Within seconds, he'd given up his fight. There was no point in telling Sherlock that they were trapped in a small place where they were eating people because everything John had to say Sherlock had already thought of ten minutes back. He could always say that Sherlock was a madman who forced him in here, if worst came to worse. Also, if he was totally honest, it didn't really seem to matter that much any more.

Because one of Sherlock's hands was gripping his hip for leverage and the other was stroking the inside of his thigh, his lips were providing slightly rough friction, but his tongue was doing that thing and…

"Nnnnngh, oh god!" John breathed, threading his hands through Sherlock's hair, pulling maybe harder than he should, because Sherlock scratched down his thigh, just hard enough to hurt. But that was okay because the pain mixed with the pleasure.

And when John opened his eyes after his world ended briefly and saw Sherlock coaxing the last of the liquid out with his hand, tongue poised to catch the drops, John felt a surge of heat go through his body that was so strong that he thought he might collapse.

He didn't but Sherlock got a little more than he bargained for, and was shot in the eye with a small but deadly amount of projectile semen. Not that he minded, but John found himself in a fit of giggles at the look of surprise on Sherlock's face. It wasn't just that, of course, it was the mix of adrenalin and fear of nearly being caught with the world's only consulting detective in a cupboard by people-choppers, then getting a blow job in possibly the most unlikely place ever in the history of the planet mixed with the high of the orgasm, plus his infallible love for Sherlock. It made him giddy.