I can honestly say that I have tried my best with this fanfic. The idea came to me a couple of weeks ago, but I've only just now gotten around to writing it because of exams and such. It's probably a little OOC, but then what Sweenett story isn't? Please enjoy- that's what it's for. Review if you have time- much appreciated! :) SWEENEY TODD, ETC. DO NOT BELONG TO ME. They belong to their respective owners. ^^

"Mrs Lovett! Mrs Lovett!" Todd called out sharply as he entered the pie shop. He was in desperate need of clean smocks for his vict– customers, and he didn't know where the wretched woman had stashed all of the laundered ones.

He set foot in the parlour, only to find that it was empty. Surprising, since more often than not when his landlady wasn't in the pie shop, she was reading a silly nonsense book by the fire. The fire; it wasn't lit.

Todd frowned and quietly tried again. "Mrs Lovett?" He received naught but silence as a reply. By this point, even he, the demon barber of Fleet Street, was beginning to become slightly unnerved. Mrs Lovett hadn't ventured upstairs to tell him that she was going out, which she almost always did, whether he cared or not (he never tended to).

Within a minute, Todd had been upstairs to Lovett's quarters, the bake house, and back to the parlour again with no sign of the woman. He was becoming uncharacteristically worried, and more so by the second as he thought over his morning: She brought me up breakfast, wished me a nice day, left, haven't heard from her since… He sighed, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. Might as well wait for her, he thought absently, and sat himself on the nearest armchair, only to find that he was sitting on something. He rose and turned, looking down at a small, leather-bound book. He picked it up and flipped through its contents, finding it to be nothing more than a sappy romance novel that Mrs Lovett had probably discarded hastily as she went to bed the night previous.

Something made a small noise, and he looked down by his right foot to find that a piece of folded paper had slipped from the book as he'd perused it. He tossed the volume aside and bent to pick up the scrap of paper. Unfolding it, he realized it was a letter to or from somebody, and had every good intention of putting it back until he saw that it was addressed to him.

My dear Mr Todd,

It is hard for me to put this into a letter, when I would much rather tell you myself… Where do I even begin? For as long as I can remember, I have loved you; As Benjamin Barker, and as Sweeney Todd.

You know that– surely you must. I don't think there's just nothing going on up in that noggin of yours. Besides, I hint at it practically every waking hour, and it surprises me that you've never told me to shut my bleeding mouth.

I wish there were an easy way for me to say this, but heaven knows there's not. Mr Todd, I cannot live without you. Yes, I know that you're always here, always around– up in your shop or sulking in the kitchen, but I know that you don't love me. I know that you remain devoted to your dear Lucy; that you cannot bear to think of another woman for fear of betraying her, or forgetting her. I respect that, Mr Todd, truly I do, but I require your love, your acknowledgement, your approval to survive.

Please do not think me a terrible person for wishing to end my life. I just figure, why bother pining away each and every day, thinking that maybe one day you'll learn to love me. I don't want you to have to learn, Mr T, I want you to love me, truly love me, and I know that is not something you can do. Therefore, forgive me, Sweeney Todd –Benjamin Barker– for being weak. I only hope that you will not trouble yourself with remembering me.

Of your Lucy, know this– she lives yet, a woman of the streets. The old beggar woman that you've questioned me about before is she. I know I've lied to you– you had every right to know that she still lived, and yet I could not bring myself to tell you. You have been hurt so much already that it was more than I could take to have to tell you that your wife was not the woman she had been those years ago. I lied because I love you, because I didn't want to see you in more pain… I realize now that it was foolish of me, and beg your forgiveness in death; I shall deserve whatever is coming to me.

I have not told Toby of my plan, so please tell him later what has become of me. Only after he asks. I know he will be angry with you; yet another thing I must beg forgiveness for.

So this is goodbye, Mr Todd. I hope very much to meet you again someday.

I love you always and forever,

Nellie xo

"Nellie?" his harsh, unsteady voice breaking through the silence as he dropped to his knees, letter still clutched firmly in hand. She's… She's killed herself! She loved me! This can't be happening! He was terribly and completely in denial, so he read her letter again, then again, then once more. It was really happening. She had loved him so much, and he hadn't shown her even a mere scrap of affection or appreciation for what she'd done day in and day out for him. I didn't deserve her.

It was the sheer remorse that he felt aching in his chest that confused him. His Lucy was still alive, and yet he was practically falling apart knowing that Mrs Lovett had ended her life over him. It wasn't fair. If anyone, he felt that it should have been he who had ended his life, not her… Not his Nellie, his bright, funny, witty Nellie. What was he to do without her?

Go find Lucy, that speck of Barker that was still in him chimed. No. He would not find Lucy. He would not do anything anymore. Without Nellie, it was pointless; Without Nellie, he was useless.

ifyouonlyknewmistertodd

Todd remained on his knees for the better part of the afternoon. It had already been three o'clock or so when he'd arrived in her parlour for the first time, and as he cast a weary glance up at the grandfather clock once again, it was nearly five. He cringed visibly. It had been two hours without her presence, well, more if he counted since she'd come to give him breakfast. Todd wanted to cry, wanted so badly to let it all out, but his tears had already been shed long ago, over a matter much less trivial– yes, at that moment, he would have gone back to Devil's Island if it meant his Nellie were still alive.

In those two hours since he'd read her letter, not allowing himself to add 'suicide' before 'letter', Todd had taken to calling her by her first name, as well as thinking of her possessively. Because really, she had been his Nellie, and no one else's. She did not belong to Toby first; she had belonged to Todd.

A dry sob racked his entire body as he crumpled her letter. He wanted to scream, wanted to smash everything, yet he could think only of one thing that would satiate his dire need for salvation.

In a flash, he was up off his knees and was ascending the stairs to his shop at such an alarming rate that passers-by must have thought him a supernatural being (and he was, in a way). He grabbed the box –that blasted, fucking box– and tucked it under his arm, then descended the stairs just as quickly. Todd raced down the stairs to the bake house and threw open the heavy, iron door as if it were thin air. He wrenched open the oven door and hurled the box, chaste silver blades and all, into the inferno.

Not much more calmly, Todd ascended the stairs from the bake house and re-entered the parlour, kicking the settee viciously when he found that he was still seething from his encounter with the oven. He took one look at the little book in the armchair that had delivered such grief into his veins, picked it up, and pitched it across the room. It hit the wall with a satisfying-enough thud and fell to the floor.

Todd slumped into the aforementioned armchair and rested his head in his hands, his fingers very obviously trying to crush his skull. "Damn you to Hell, Nellie Lovett!"

"An' on what pretences, pray tell, are you damning me?" came a surprised and concerned voice from the parlour's doorway. Todd hadn't even heard the bell in the shop chime.

He stood, looking a sorry sight, then lunged himself at her. In one long stride he'd closed the distance between them, and had firmly pressed his lips to hers in the most ardent kiss he was ever likely to give.

Shocked, Nellie remained wide eyed, trying to sort out briefly what had caused this change of heart, but like he'd read her mind, Sweeney pulled away from her momentarily.

As onyx met chocolate, he whispered, "I thought you were dead."

Nellie's eyes softened. He'd found the letter in her book. She hadn't really meant it– it had been a mere outlet for her, letting out her anger and frustration on paper. She'd written it fictitiously, imagining what he'd do when he found it. Truthfully, her dreams hadn't been far off. She placed her hand on the back of his head, entwining her fingers in his hair as she wrapped her other arm around his shoulders, pulling him as close as she could.

"There, there, darlin'. I'm not dead… I wrote that letter a while ago–" Sweeney pulled back to look at her, interrupting Nellie mid-sentence.

"How did you know I–?"

"Lucky guess, love. I…" She let go of Sweeney and walked over to scoop up the crumpled, discarded letter on the floor. "I was so angry one night that you didn't pay me no mind, an' I guess I let me imagination get the better o' me." Nellie turned back to look at Sweeney, and let the letter drift back to the floor with a smile. She walked over to him and cupped his face with her hands, her thumb lightly brushing over his cheek. "I'm sorry, love. Whether you paid attention to me or not, I couldn't bring meself to do such a thing. Not when I knew you needed me."

Within a second, Sweeney's hands were on her waist, pulling her in as he pressed his lips to hers once again. "Nellie Lovett…"

She made a soft 'mhmm?' noise into his mouth, her eyes fluttering open just long enough for him to answer.

"Never doubt that I love you."