A while back, before I started writing fanfics, someone posted on Tumblr speculating about how a certain gorgeous, charismatic, spectacularly-voiced actor must sound when he first wakes up in the morning. I decided I wanted to read fanfiction based on that premise, and prompted a few awesome authors, but they were all (understandably) busy. The other day I realised that I could just write it myself, and it was suitable for a drabble!
Also, the book that inspired yesterday's drabble was correctly figured out by Mirith Griffin, it was indeed The Secret History by Donna Tartt.
Anyway, enough blathering, this note is nearly longer than the drabble itself!
John made no denials about it, one of the most attractive things about Sherlock was his voice. That rich, deep voice that he'd heard compared to so many things; a jaguar in a cello, melted chocolate, honey, velvet, and pure unadulterated sex. All reasonable comparisons, but none of them quite did it justice.
When they finally started sleeping together – not just angry, passionate fucking, but actually sleeping, one of the things John was most looking forward to (besides the snuggling, but if you ever told anyone John "Three Continents" Watson was a cuddler he would cheerfully rip your throat out) was hearing that voice first thing in the morning, still drowsy and roughened with sleep.
What he was not anticipating, however, was that Sherlock would keep as erratic a schedule as ever, always managing to be infuriatingly showered, polished, and wide awake by the time John managed to blearily stumble his way into the kitchen. Today though, he had a plan. He'd put his phone alarm to vibrate and tucked it under his pillow, setting it to the ungodly hour of four AM. He woke gently and turned to watch Sherlock, waiting a mere half-hour before he stirred, rolling over to meet John's gaze.
"You're awake awfully early," Sherlock murmured, his voice gravelly, delicious and even deeper than his usual baritone.