Drying Your Invisible Tears

By Cybra

A/N:  First contribution for my "Personification Challenge."  I say "first" because I had two ideas that I wish to run with.  One is this one; the other ties in with "The Mystery of the Red Violin."  They had two different feels that, well, I could not decide one over the other.  So I thought, "Just do both."  You enjoy the spoils.

Disclaimer:  The Great Mouse Detective belongs to the Walt Disney Company.  The Basil of Baker Street Mysteries belong to the late Eve Titus.

You are crying again, young one.

I knew it even before your fingers first caressed me.  I knew it the moment you sat in the chair beside me.

I wait, knowing that you will turn to me in time.

And you do.  You turn to me as you cry (you thought) alone.

I sing my best for you.  You always bring out the best in me, but I always try especially hard when you cry.  For I hate to see you cry, so I sing to dry your tears.  Yet your tears are always hard to dry since they rarely leave your eyes.  You have almost always held them back, letting the tears and pain fester.  It has always been this way ever since your mother first introduced us. [1]

What is the cause of your repressed tears this time, my child?  Did all of your hard work turn out for naught?  I know how that puts such a strain on you, my love.  Or is there something else that I do not know?

Your fingers dance across me, caressing me.  I sing in response, allowing my voice to ring in your ears.

Dry your invisible tears, young one.  Please stop crying.  Allow my voice to ease your pain.

I only wish I could do more.  I wish I had arms in which to embrace you.  I wish I had lips to plant a reassuring kiss your head.  If not that, I wish I could sing to you without needing you to touch me first!

But I have to be content with what gifts I am given and soothe you in the only way I can.  You seem to take great comfort in my voice even if I cannot provide it without your help.

You cease your gentle caresses over my neck.  Are you thinking about stopping now?  I can still sense your pain, child.  Take your time, for I am in no hurry to leave you.  Relax, and let me sing your troubles away.

Your fingers start dancing again, and I start singing a new song.  If I can distract you from what ails your mind for only a moment, then I'm happy.

I sing for you for hours it seems until you finally set me to rest in my appointed place.  Though I cannot take all of your pain away forever, at least I can dry your invisible tears for a little while.

You are so gentle as you close the lid on my bed, acting as if I would break at the slightest disturbance.

I am old, my child, but there are times when I fear that is you rather than I who will break.  Take my song and use it to strengthen you.

Yet always know that I will always be here when you need me to dry your tears.


[1] In the Canon, Holmes buys his violin from a Jewish pawnbroker for fifty-five shillings.  He actually managed to persuade the pawnbroker to lower the price from the retail price of five hundred guineas.  In my own mind, Basil's violin was a hand-me-down from his mother.