"WE'RE HERE!" Rose shouted as she exited the car. "Hullo boys, we're here!"
"Here now, stop all your shouting and help me with the baggage. This one gift is bloody heavy," Greg called to her. "Come on, you're my assistant, so come assist me."
Rose laughed and helped him haul their luggage and gifts towards the door, making quite the motley duo in the process. As she struggled for her keys in her pocket, the front door opened, revealing Mycroft in his usual tweed country attire.
"Can't leave the waistcoat off for even a day, My?" Rose asked before shoving her purse and a brown bag full of gifts into his arms.
Mycroft paid her no mind and was instead looking over her shoulder. "Detective-Inspector Lestrade. What in god's name has Rose done now that required you deliver her here?" His look shifted to Rose and it was definitely not a happy look. "Can you not stay out of trouble for five whole minutes?"
"Rose, did you not ask if I could come?" Greg asked, giving the young lady a confused look.
"Why should I? I own a third of this house, I can invite whomever I wish," Rose announced firmly. "Besides, I sent you a text saying I was inviting a friend, Mycroft."
"A friend would imply someone like Louise or that fellow you dance with, not-"
"Why can't Greg be my friend? He likes me! He hired me, he's very nice and you even invited him to my birthday party. Why can't he spend Christmas holiday with us?" Rose demanded. Before Mycroft could even reply she dumped her things on the ground and put her hands on her hips.
"You know what? You are just such a grouch Mycroft Holmes! Well I won't have it! Greg is going to enjoy a very happy Christmas with us because we all like him and consider him a friend and you're just going to get over it and there won't be a single solitary comment about goldfish. Are we clear?" Rose demanded.
Mycroft's eyebrows shot up as he looked at his little sister, his baby sister, the baby sister he raised, giving him a scolding.
Greg had a similar look of confusion on his face as he stood there. "Goldfish?" he finally asked.
"Mycroft, shove over please so we can come in. And ignore him, Greg, he's an idiot sometimes. Or lots of times depending on your definition," Rose commented. When her brother stepped aside, after giving her a meaningful look, she picked up her things and entered the house.
The detective-inspector gave Mycroft a nod before following Rose inside. "Mycroft Holmes is not someone I'd call an idiot on any day of the year, you know."
"Then your definition is too rigid," she decided, throwing a smile at him over his shoulder. "We're Holmeses after all, we need our own brand of idiot."
"WE HAVE ONE! IT'S CALLED ROSE!" Sherlock's voice rang out from the kitchen.
"Welcome to the lion's den," John added, standing lazily against the wall near the kitchen. "If we stick together Greg, we might just survive Christmas."
Rose giggled hysterically. "John, you act like this isn't our life every day. Don't be so dramatic," she teased. "Which room did Sherlock give you?"
"Green one," the doctor answered.
"Perfect. Come along Greg, let's take our luggage upstairs. You get the blue room," Rose directed, leading the way upstairs. She opened the door of the said blue room and smiled. "Here you go. Unpack if you wish, but don't take long because we've got loads of things to do!"
Twenty minutes later Rose bounded down the stairs and went straight for the hall closet to retrieve a very necessary tool for Christmas merriment. "Everyone ready?" she called, slinging a large axe over her shoulder. "Time to get our Christmas tree! This time I want to chop it down."
"Rose! Put that bloody thing down before you hurt yourself!" John shouted as he exited the kitchen. "What in the world are you on about?" He crossed the room and took the axe from her and gave her a look. She giggled in response, which wasn't what he'd hoped to achieve.
As John confiscated her weapon, Sherlock and Mycroft shared looks across the room at one another. "About that," Sherlock began slowly. "We never actually cut down any Christmas trees when you were young."
Rose's jaw dropped. "Wait, what? But you always left with the axe and came back with a tree!"
"We did, from the village nearby. We never chopped down anything. That was Father's tradition and Mother thought it was important we somehow recreate the illusion of tree-chopping for you," Mycroft admitted. "Not that I understood why, you were only two when passed after all."
"But… but… For real? You two seriously never chopped down even a single tree in all those years? My entire childhood has been a lie!" Rose wailed, looking horribly distraught.
Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Given your current display of dramatics, one might argue that your childhood has yet to end."
She began sniffling in response and John was just about to put an arm around her when Rose began laughing hysterically to the confusion of her brothers. "Do you two seriously think I didn't know that? And here you're supposed to be geniuses! You got in a car, and no one drives a car in an actual forest," she pointed out. "I solved that puzzle when I was five, but it was loads of fun playing pretend."
"Rosenwyn Holmes, you are a plague upon this earth," Mycroft decided. "John, do put the axe away. We'll take the car and go to pick out a tree, only because there will be weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth from Rose if we don't."
Rose bound across the room and stood on her tiptoes to kiss Mycroft's cheek. "You're ever so much fun to tease," she whispered.
"Brat, go get in the car before I leave you behind," he ordered.
An hour later the Motley band of merry-makers returned from the village with what Rose was certain was the best Christmas tree there ever was. Mycroft had forgotten how much she loved Christmas and while he secretly enjoyed her excitement and glee, he made certain to scowl, scold, and frown in response. After all, it was the Holmesian way, and he had a reputation as the family Grinch to maintain!
"I'm so proud of all of you!" Rose declared when they situated the tree in the sitting room. "Everyone deserves a reward for being such good tree-draggers."
"That's not a word," Sherlock interjected.
"Shut up Sherlock. I'm making cocoa for everyone and if you want any, stop picking on me." Rose stuck her tongue out at him playfully before heading into the kitchen. "Mycroft! You and Sherlock need to get the boxes from the attic with all the decorations!"
"What? The tree isn't enough?!" Mycroft demanded, sending a scowl her way, even as he headed for the stairs. "Come along Sherlock, she won't be silenced until she gets her way."
By the time the cocoa was ready all the boxes of decorations had been brought down from the attic and were piled into the sitting room. "Cocoa's up," Rose called, carefully carrying a tray into the room. "There's whip cream and chocolate drizzle, too, if anyone is so inclined. Or just me, I can eat them both all by myself without a problem."
Greg chuckled and grinned. "You all get started on the cocoa, I'm going to have a smoke and be right back in. Don't start decorating without me, I want to see the mayhem!" He retrieved his coat from the hall closet and fumbled in the pockets for his pack of cigarettes and lighter before exiting the house, not noticing that something else fell out of his coat pocket.
Just as Greg exited, Mycroft's mobile rang and the caller ID grew a groan from the man. "I left the city seven hours ago and already the prime minister is in over his head. Do excuse me." He answered the phone as he headed down the hallway to his study.
"Poor Mycroft, there's so many stupid people in the world," Rose murmured. "Oh well, he'll sort it all out and be back in time to have cocoa, even if I end up re-heating it for him." She passed a mug to both John and Sherlock before adding a generous helping of whip cream to the top of her own.
Sherlock absentmindedly sipped on the hot drink, thinking back on Christmases past when the whole family had celebrated together and made a game of all the decorating. It had always pleased Mother so much to have them all around and the house so festive. He'd never understood it, but he hadn't minded doing it for Mother's sake. As he glanced around the room, something caught his eye near the door and he set his mug down in order to retrieve it. Thinking it was something that belonged to Lestrade, Sherlock intended to keep it and drive the man mad when he discovered it missing and searched frantically for it later. That was one of his favorite games! It was not, however, something that belonged to Greg. It was a driver's license in a fake name with his sister's photo on it.
Sherlock pocketed the license and stormed down the hallway, letting himself into Mycroft's unlocked office. He completely ignored his older brother's indignant look and wrenched open a drawer of Mycroft's desk to retrieve a very large wooden spoon before exiting the room. With spoon in hand he entered the sitting room and took Rose's cocoa out of her hand.
"I was drinking that Sherlock!" she exclaimed, not seeing the spoon partially hidden behind his back.
"Not anymore you aren't," he growled, hauling her up by an arm. "With me," Sherlock commanded and began pulling her towards the stairs, leaving a gaping John in his wake
"Sherlock what are you on about?" Rose asked just before catching sight of the spoon. That was a spoon that had only one purpose: smacking bottoms! "Sherlock wait! I haven't even done anything I swear!"
"Lie," Sherlock responded accusingly. "You're just full of lies aren't you, sister dear?" His tone was anything but familial as he pulled her along the upstairs hallway and into her bedroom. Once her door was shut behind them Sherlock took the license from his pocket and held it out for her to see. "You. Lied. To. Me," he growled.
The color drained from Rose's face as she was presented with the license Lestrade had confiscated mere hours ago. "Oh god, I can explain," she began.
"Oh this ought to be good," Sherlock retorted, crossing his arms over his chest. "Go ahead, try to explain your way out of this Rosenwyn Aramantha. We had a conversation in September, do you recall it? When you surrendered all your false identity materials to me? 'I promise that's everything and I'll never need them again.' You said. Remember?"
Three Months Earlier
"You keep acting as if I'll leave at any second," Rose murmured one evening as they sat in Sherlock and John's flat. "You try not to let it show, but you're worried. I promise, I'm not leaving again."
"I'd feel much better about things if you turned over all your fake documents," Sherlock admitted. "I'll never forget the way it felt that night Mycroft found your note, or the way it felt every day that you were missing and I was worried for you."
Rose hugged her big brother tightly before getting up and exiting the flat. She returned moments later with a small bag of various ID cards, name tags, and other assorted items. "Will you be able to relax a bit now? Not come check on me during the night to make sure I'm still there, if I give you these?"
Sherlock looked her in the eyes. "I will accept these with your promise that this is every last item and that you're giving them to me to prove you're happy and won't ever frighten me that way again by disappearing, ever."
Rose handed him the bag without even a second's hesitation. "I promise that's everything and I'll never need them again. I'm here to stay, I'm a happy girl, and I love you, even when you worry too much."
Present
"I… I… Er… Well…" Rose's mind was spinning as she grappled for some way to explain the appearance of an item she had given her word that it had not existed. "I thought I might need it. Sometimes a person needs to drive a car and then at least I'd be driving legally… in a sense," she finally managed to spit out.
"What for?" Sherlock demanded. "What could you possibly need a driver's license for? And if you really wanted one, you could get a legal one here with your actual name on it without a great deal of difficulty. Were you saving this for something? Planning on a midnight getaway to Gretna Green in the near future?"
His mention of the historically infamous place in Scotland where lovers ran away to be wed threw her off for a moment and Rose didn't respond fast enough for his liking.
"No response? No reasonable excuse?"
"What if there had been an emergency? Before I got a proper license?" Rose asked in a tiny voice. "Or something…" The look on his face told Rose she was only making things worse by trying to come up with some sort of explanation for not turning the license over to him three months ago.
"This does not give me confidence in your word Rosenwyn. You will not lie, especially not to me. I thought I'd taught you that lesson quite some time ago. Apparently, you need a refresher course in why it is a very poor choice to lie to me."
Sherlock's tone was stern and steely, one he so very rarely used with her and Rose found it particularly upsetting. "But I did learn that lesson, not to lie," Rose whispered, her hands going back to cup her bum protectively. "Really Sherlock, I just… It was stupid, really stupid and I should have given it to you. Sometimes I'm honestly just an idiot. Besides, Lestrade already confiscated it, so I'm not sure why you even have it."
"The reason why I have it is immaterial. The reason we are here right now is because you lied by word and you lied by omission and I don't care how old you are, Rosenwyn Aramantha Holmes, those things will never be tolerated and always earn you a good spanking," Sherlock responded, unwilling to let her sad look and tiny voice deter him.
"But I don't want you to!" Rose whined loudly, adding a stomp for emphasis. "Sherlock, its Christmas, and I'm sorry!"
In response to her pleading, Sherlock merely sat down on her bed and gave Rose a pointed look. "Can you honestly look me in the eye Rose and promise me that this was a mistake? That you'd forgotten you had it? If you can, then I'm clearly in the wrong and am being too harsh. Am I wrong?"
She looked him directly in the eye, the lie on the tip of her tongue, just waiting to be said, but Rose couldn't bring herself to say it. Not even to save her bum from a very sound smacking. Rose shook her head and whispered, "No, you're not wrong."
Rose looked so utterly miserable that Sherlock couldn't resist giving her a little praise for admitting that. "That's my good girl, my brave girl," he said sincerely, reaching for her hand and squeezing it when he caught it. "Very brave. Now we need to have a discussion about lying, don't we?" His tone was considerably softer than it had been a moment ago, her admission allowing him to drop that hard, steely tone to the stern-yet-gentle tone he preferred to use when disciplining her. For all her stubbornness, Rose was a sensitive girl at heart and shouting bothered her, he'd learned over the years. A very stern tone got her attention just as well, without unduly upsetting her. She'd be upset enough as it was when he set her bottom on fire!
"Not with that though, please?" Rose begged, indicating the spoon currently sitting beside Sherlock on her bed. "We don't need it, really. Your hand hurts plenty all on its own."
An eyebrow quirked. "That's not a serious question, is it miss? You're not really trying to tell me you haven't earned this, are you?" Sherlock smirked just a bit when Rose hurriedly shook her head. "I thought not. Jeans down and over my lap."
"Noooooo, I want to keep them up," she whined.
Sherlock always found it very interesting how easily she reverted to childish whining and other habits she'd had since she was little, like shuffling her feet, whenever it came time for a scolding and spanking. Not that it ever did her any good, however. "One…"
"Oh my god, what is it with people counting all the damn time?" Rose grumbled as she unbuttoned her jeans. Finally she pushed them to her knees and bent over his lap, cringing in advance as he adjusted her position a bit. She saw him reach for the spoon out of the corner of her eye. "Not the whole time!" she protested.
Frowning, Sherlock tapped her bum firmly with the spoon. "I don't think that's a serious question either, is it? No matter; even if it is, you've most certainly earned this Rosenwyn and I know that you know that."
Rose tried to brace herself for the coming smacks but there was really no preparing for a smacking with a wooden spoon. It was a light implement but what it lacked in bulk it made up for with a nasty sting. Before she was ready for it, the spoon landed with a solid swat on the lower portion of her right cheek; as she sucked in a breath, it fell once more on her left cheek.
With no particular pattern in mind, Sherlock set up a steady rhythm of swats, intending to give her a very sore reminder of what a bad choice lying was. He was, of the two brothers, the far more lenient 'parent' but even Sherlock had lines that Rose should know better than to cross.
As the spanking got underway upstairs, Lestrade finished his cigarette and entered the house once more. Initially, he heard nothing out of the ordinary, but the noise finally registered as he hung his coat up in the hall closet. Greg paused, frowned, and thought hard, trying to identify the sounds coming from upstairs. It sounded like… but it couldn't be…. could it?
Greg looked over at John, who was silently drinking his cocoa while sitting on the couch. The doctor looked a bit uncomfortable and Greg was beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable. "Uh…," he began. "Er… what's going on?"
John coughed a bit before responding. "Sherlock and Rose are having a discussion. No idea why, but he was distinctly displeased with her. Practically hauled her upstairs," he finally told Greg.
"A discussion? Doesn't sound like any discussion I've ever heard," the inspector-detective replied, a frown settling on his face.
"That's what Sherlock calls a… well…" Considering the fact that he himself had given Rose a few spankings since she'd wandered onto Baker Street, John had no idea why it was so awkward for him to actually say the bloody word. It just was. He coughed once more. "That's how Sherlock refers to spankings. Like I said, no idea what she did, but that's what… that… is." John cringed despite himself when he could clearly hear the sounds of tears.
A panicked look crossed Greg's face. Immediately he retrieved his coat from the closet and searched every pocket; he was very dismayed to find that Rose's false driver's license was gone. A big ball of guilt immediately settled in his gut. "This is my fault. Damn." Greg crossed the room and sat on the couch, letting out a deep breath as he did so.
Upstairs, Sherlock was well on his way to painting Rose's bottom cherry red, though he struggled a bit to block out her tears. It had never been easy for him to spank her, even when she'd more than earned it, and the more she cried, the more like an arsehole he felt.
"Sherlock! Please! Ow!" Rose yelped, squirming over his lap. She never tried to actually get up from his lap, not that Sherlock would have let her anyway, but Rose certainly gave in to the urges to kick, wriggle, and squirm. Her bum was on fire, the sting completely intolerable, and she wriggled in response to the pain.
Despite her caterwauling, Sherlock knew he wasn't really hurting her; not really. Spoons stung, but didn't bruise unless one was really reckless in administering it, so while it might sting and feel as though she'd never sit again, he knew better. When he could see a pink color peeking out from under her pants, Sherlock stopped and shifted the spoon to his other hand while the other tugged her pants down to join her jeans.
"Nooooooooo! Sherlock please!" Rose's frantic tears grew in intensity and volume, making her big brother cringe, although she couldn't see it.
"We've already discussed lying in the past, Rose. You know how much I dislike repeat offenses, and this was not something you should have been deceptive about. Given your secret keeping in other matters, I'm concerned this is becoming a pattern," Sherlock admitted. "I want to make it very, very clear that I will not tolerate lying, by word or by omission, on anything. I don't think I've got my message across emphatically enough just yet.
"You're being very brave," he added, rubbing her back gently after shifting the spoon back to his dominant hand. "Very brave, and I'm so proud of you, because I know it's not fun and that it hurts. Be brave just a bit longer." Just as he raised the spoon once again, Rose's hands flew back to try and protect her reddening cheeks. He didn't blame her, and it didn't make her any less brave in his book, but Sherlock knew he couldn't allow it either.
"I'm going to hold your hands, Rose. I don't want to smack them with the spoon by mistake, spoons aren't for smacking hands," Sherlock commented as he captured her wrists in one hand before moving them to the small of her back.
"Sorry, I'm sorry, Sherlock, I'm sorry!" Rose wailed as the spanking began once more. The sting and heat continued to build as the spoon fell again and again, causing her to kick and drum her feet on the floor, though really only her toes touched it. Finally, when it became completely unbearable, she broke down in heartfelt sobs and buried her face in the duvet.
Just like that, the spanking stopped. Sherlock was satisfied that she'd learned a good lesson and even winced in sympathy at how painful her very red cheeks and sit spots looked. Releasing her hands, he dropped the spoon on the floor and began rubbing her back. "All over Rose. We're all done and you're forgiven. I know we won't have to discuss this again. You're a good girl Rose, my good girl," he crooned soothingly. Sherlock wasn't entirely certain she could hear him over her tears, but he tried to soothe her all the same.
After a moment or so had passed, Sherlock helped Rose up from his lap so he could gather her close in his arms. Settling her well-spanked bottom between his thighs, he wrapped his arms around her, feeling his heart twinge when she grasped onto his shirt with both hands.
"There, there," Sherlock soothed, rocking her gently. "I know it's very sore, but it's all done now. My brave girl, my brave little Rose. It'll be alright, I promise."
Rose snuggled as close to him as she possibly could while she cried out her tears. It had been quite the spanking and it took several minutes for her tears to disappear completely. After taking a deep breath, she looked up at Sherlock, biting her lip for a few seconds before speaking. "I'm really sorry Sherlock. I don't know what I was thinking. I won't do it again, that really is every single thing now and you can search my flat if you want. I'm so sorry."
"I know you are," Sherlock hurried to assure her. "We won't talk about it again and I won't let Mycroft bother you either. It's finished." He kissed her forehead and wiped away a few stray tears with the pad of his thumb.
"I don't want to go downstairs," Rose blurted out rather suddenly. "Greg's here. He's my boss, and my friend, but also my boss-"
"You said that title already," Sherlock interrupted, earning a scowl for his troubles.
"It's embarrassing enough when it's just John. I think I'm going to stay up here. Will you have John bring me something to eat later?" she asked.
"Unfortunately, remaining up here isn't an option. Who else will be in charge of the decorating? You're the one that wants all this festive nonsense, so you must be the director of its creation," he responded. "You can do it, you're a strong girl. Gavin isn't going to tease you about it."
Rose rolled her eyes. "Greg; his name is Greg, Sherlock. It might be a lovely Christmas present for him if you actually bothered to remember his bloody name."
Sherlock gently poked her nose with his finger. "Language. Mycroft will get on you about that. Come on now, fix your clothes and we'll go down together."
Downstairs, Greg was trying not to look as anxious as he felt. One, it was very, very awkward to hear a spanking going on and just be sitting there. Two, he felt horribly guilty that Rose's license had been found, knowing it had to have fallen out of his pocket. Or Sherlock had pick-pocketed him again, but either way, he hadn't done a great job of keeping it away from Rose's rather overprotective brothers. It was oddly comforting that John looked just as anxious as he did, though for entirely different reasons.
It seemed like an eternity had passed before the two men heard the sound of footsteps in the hall above them. Within just a moment, Sherlock and Rose descended the stairs and Greg felt like an ass all over again. She looked just awful; face all tear-streaked, eyes red and a bit swollen. He should say something, Greg thought, but the question was what to say.
As Greg struggled to formulate the appropriate verbal response to Rose's arrival, John threw Sherlock a dark look when he caught sight of Rose. Oh, John knew she'd probably well earned it- she was Rose Holmes after all- but that didn't mean he had to like it. "Aw, love, c'mere," he said gently, intending to cuddle her close. He knew Sherlock already had, but Rose looked like she needed even more, considering she was the very picture of misery while standing there shyly by her brother.
Normally, Rose would have happily gone to John for some further cuddle time and the opportunity to watch John scowl at her brother for being so mean. This time, however, she stood up a little straighter, took a deep breath and said, "I'm fine. It's all fine. I'm going to start supper, we can decorate after." Without waiting for anyone's response, she hurriedly disappeared into the kitchen. "And Sherlock, you're not welcome in the kitchen with food the entire time we're here. I mean it, I don't want our food becoming experiments on how to poison your family at Christmas or something equally ridiculous," she called back. Though Rose couldn't see his face, she could well imagine the look of outrage on it at just that moment.
Five minutes later, while Rose was furiously busy in the kitchen, Mycroft emerged from his office after sorting out the latest mess the prime minister had made. "So," he began as he took a seat in a chair. "Going to tell me what that was all about, brother mine? What has our darling sister been up to now?"
"No, I'm not going to tell you," Sherlock immediately responded. "Consider the matter closed."
While Mycroft mounted an argument about why he should know, despite the fact he'd turned over the reigns of 'main disciplinarian' to Sherlock, Greg made his way into the kitchen.
"Greg, I don't have any nibbles for you. If you're hungry, there are snacks in the fridge. Otherwise please leave me alone," Rose stated in a clipped tone.
"Actually, I came to see if you needed any help," Greg said quietly.
"No; I'd like you to go away."
Greg sighed, noting her refusal to even look up from the carrots she was cutting up, let alone look at him. "I'm actually a good cook, you know. Might be fun to have someone to cook with for a change," he commented.
"Are you trying to make me look you in the face and tell you that I'm horribly embarrassed and would prefer to be alone? I'd really rather skip that part, if you don't mind," Rose responded. "And if you're trying to make a very awkward apology for however Sherlock got that fake license, please don't bother. I should have known better than to keep it in the first place."
Yep, she was definitely a Holmes, Greg couldn't help but think. Though she didn't want to hear the words, he very much wanted to say them and wouldn't allow her prickly attitude to prevent him from doing so. He crossed the room and put a hand on her arm. "Put the knife down, will you?" he asked quietly.
Rose sighed. "What for?"
"'Cause I'm your boss and I said so." He kept his tone light and teasing and was secretly thrilled when Rose put the knife down. Gently, he turned her around to face him. "I'm sorry kid, really. I had every intention to keep that between us and should have done a better job at keeping Sherlock from picking my pocket; again."
"I should have given it to him when I gave him everything else," Rose admitted. "It's not your fault."
Greg squeezed her shoulder gently. "You alright?" It was downright painful when she shook her head no and looked down at her feet. He wasn't entirely sure when it had happened, but apparently, she'd wrapped him around her finger as well.
"I'm really, really embarrassed. I mean, it's always embarrassing, but I'm used to John being around. But you're my friend and my boss and…" Rose's voiced trailed off as she took a deep breath to steady it. She really didn't want to start crying again.
"None of that," he responded kindly, suddenly pulling her into his arms. "I don't think any less of you, I promise. And I still think you're a good kid, too." Greg felt a smile tugging at his lips when Rose returned his hug and held onto her for a moment before relaxing his embrace.
"Did you mean what you said?" Rose asked, looking up at him once more. "You can actually cook?"
"I'll let you in on a secret: I love to cook, and I'm very good, if I do say so myself. I just don't often get the opportunity to do it. The job and all."
"Well, you'll have to prove it to me. You'd best prove your skills, Greg Lestrade. Start with the potatoes," Rose directed. "This time, I'm the boss! My kitchen, my rules."
Greg laughed and went to the sink to wash up. "Prepare to be amazed, Rose! I'm going to knock your socks off."
"You've just dated yourself Greg. Less talk, more cooking," Rose laughed. "And Greg? Thanks." There was no need to specify what she was thanking him for, as they both knew.
"Anytime kid, anytime."