It really did satisfy him. Sliding his silver razor across the vulnerable, bare throat of another one of his unfortunate customers and watching them take their very last breath. He liked the thought of their families being taken away from them, just like his had those many years ago. He liked the control; watching them hit the cold, hard floor of the baker house with a crack gave him some sort of cruel, sick pleasure. However, it didn't satisfy him enough and he wouldn't be completely satisfied until he had his revenge. He thought about it a lot; how he would lure the loathsome Judge back to his shop and what he would say to him before he slit the man's neck. He wanted to drag it out, definitely. He wanted to watch Turpin realise that he was that innocent, virtuous young man he nonchalantly sent away all of those miserable years ago. He wanted him to know that he was the one who did this. He was the one who caused this previously honourable man to now be the murderous serial killer he is. The sound of the barber shop bell quickly snapped him out of his forlorn, miserable thoughts. He decided that this would be his last customer for the day; the shop had been busy and he was somewhat pleased with the money he had made.

After the customer was down the chute and ready to be made into one of Lovett's infamous meat pies, he flipped the open sign on the door to 'closed' and went back to his window to resume with his brooding. He glared at the people outside, walking down gloomy Fleet Street with their happy families. He would give anything to have his family back. His Lucy and his Johanna.

"Sir?" Came a small voice from the shop door. Sweeney inwardly groaned, not looking away from the window. He knew who it was. That damn boy Mrs. Lovett insisted that she should keep.

"What do you want, boy?" He asked, although not sounding interested in the slightest. He was just like Mrs. Lovett as well, entering without knocking and not waiting for permission to come in.

"I've got a letter for you," he answered. Sweeney frowned, turning around and looking at him. He never usually got letters at all.

"Who is it from?"

"I don't know, sir," he said with a shrug, handing it to the barber. Sweeney dismissed Toby from the shop with a small nod, before frowning down at the letter.

He stayed stood up, reading the top of the thin piece of parchment. He didn't recognise the handwriting at all, and a large part of him hoped that it was from Judge Turpin, telling him that he would soon stop by for a shave. However, he realised that there was no name of the sender at the bottom. He furrowed his brow. Why would the letter be anonymous? After a few seconds of questioning thoughts, he slowly read the first paragraph.

"Dear Mr. S. Todd,

This letter is a story. Not just any story, either. This letter is a FanFiction. A Sweenett FanFiction, to be precise. I hope that you enjoy this story, it has been worked very hard on by myself and took quite a while. It is about you and a certain baker who lives just below your shop. It is a story about what happens when your room becomes infested and you end up having to share a room with her. Rated M."

Sweeney frowned a lot. More than he had been frowning before. Who the hell would write stories about him and his accomplice?! Who even knew enough about them to do such a thing? What did 'Rated M' mean? And, his shop had never been infested with anything! He considered putting the letter down right then, and storming down to Mrs. Lovett to ask her about it. Although curiosity managed to get the better of him, and he ended up sitting down in his barber chair, reading the letter.

The story wasn't bad at first. It was written quite well, and started with an enraged (and very in-character) Sweeney storming downstairs to the pie maker to tell her about the pesky insects. However, about ten minutes into reading it, a redness had crept it's way across his cheeks, which was a massive contrast compared to his usual ghost-white complexion.

"I put my what where?!" He asked himself, reading with his eyes wide at the absurdity. It definitely wasn't something that had ever happened, and the idea of it was preposterous.

"Oh my god," he muttered, his lips dry and slightly parted. He seemed to be reading a very dirty and very explicit story about him and Mrs. Lovett. He had never read anything like this before- he had never wanted to! He carried on reading, though. Not even thinking to stop. After a while, he had finished the bottom line, and was staring blankly at the parchment. He wasn't as angry as he probably should of been. Did he like reading it?

'No, of course not!' He thought to himself, going over the story-line in his head. He slumped down in his chair, rubbing his forehead with his hand. Although he hadn't asked to read this vile piece of fiction, he really did feel guilty. He knew that he should of stopped as soon as he knew what it was about. 'What happens when your shop becomes infested and you end up sharing a room with Nellie.' Of course that inferred something erotic. And, who the hell would right this anyway? He knew that it wasn't Toby, the boy was about ten years old for heaven's sake! Anthony was definitely too... upstanding to have written it. The only other person who he could think of was Mrs Lovett herself!

He groaned, shaking his head to himself and hoping that this was some kind of weird dream. But, no. He knew that this was real life and he knew that somebody had written a downright explicit story about him and his landlady. He got up, throwing the letter into the old chest in the corner of the room. He had some questions that needed to be answered. He left his shop, hastily going to Mrs Lovett's. When he entered, he saw that she was sat down at one of the shop tables with Toby, two tumblers of gin and a bottle in-between them. They both looked at him, quickly going silent. Mrs. Lovett looked quite dumbfounded. He hardly ever came downstairs at all, what could he possibly want?

"I need to talk to you," said Sweeney, not sounding as threatening as usual. He inwardly kicked himself, realising this. He swallowed, starting to feel his face become hotter than usual.

"About what?" Asked Mrs. Lovett, smiling at him. Fortunately, she didn't seem to notice. Sweeney didn't move, narrowing his eyes slightly and thinking. He didn't want to say anything about the content of the letter, he just wanted to know if she had been the one who had written it.

"Erm, have you sent any letters recently?" He asked, watching her carefully.

"No, I don't think I have, love," she frowned, "why do you ask?" she said, tilting her head slightly. He tried to find any indication that she was lying on her face, but failed. Sweeney ignored her question and glanced at Toby, who was looking at him with as much confusement as she was.

"Right," he said, looking away in thought.

"Are you alright?" She asked him, still frowning slightly. He grunted in response, turning around and leaving again.

Their short conversation made it seem like she hadn't written the letter, which was quite surprising to him. Who else could have done?

''Or maybe, perhaps, she was lying?'' He asked himself, climbing the cold, metal steps to his shop.

When he got back he halted right at the door, looking at the floor in front of him.

It was another letter.

Yes, this is a re-written Fanfiction that I wrote over a year ago. I know that lots of people where against it, but I deleted the last one because I think that this version is written better and makes more sense. As much as I understand, please try not to complain.

I decided to change to laptop to actual letters, as well.

This will be updated every weekend until it is finished, I promise you. (I hope I won't regret writing that)

If you want, leave a review of what you would like to see happen or what you liked most. I love reading them :)

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