A/N: Don't ask me why, but inspiration for this came to me in French class. Summary: Mrs. Lovett seems fine, but soon her illness gets the best of her. No, it's not TB, although the symptoms are the same. I haven't decided what she has yet. It may end up being TB.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, but how I wish I owned Sweeney...I wish I could miniaturize him and carry him in my pocket...Sweeney-in-a-pocket...lol. Without further ado:

The woman with auburn hair and brown eyes stared out of the window at the dreary streets of London. She hadn't been feeling well, but Mrs. Lovett shook it off, assuming it was simply tiredness. She could hear the steady rhythmic pacing of the man in the shop above her, and turned her eyes to the ceiling.

"Mum?" came a small voice.

She faced the child, a warm smile on her face.

"What is it, love?"

"Why are you starin' at the roof?"

"No reason," she held out a coin, "Now. How's about you take this coin and buy yourself somethin' sweet?"

Toby took the coin, his eyes lighting up, and ran from the shop. She made her way to the counter and found she had to stop and steady herself as a wave of dizziness crashed over her. She swayed on her feet and, as she tried to step forward, sank into the dark abyss of unconsciousness.

"Mrs. Lovett! Mrs. Lovett!"

Rough hands shook her gently, but she did not move. She heard Toby's frightened cry as he saw her on the floor.

"Hush, boy. I didn't hurt her, now be quiet."

The voice spoke in little more than a low growl, but, even in her weakened state, it filled her with such joy she could hardly lie still. She was lifted from the floor, and she dimky wondered how he had opened the door while carrying her. She was placed gently in her bed, and it was only then that she opened her eyes.

"Mr. T?"

Her voice was barely above a whisper, but he turned to look at her, regardless.

"Yes, Mrs. Lovett?"

"I'm cold." she whispered.

Indeed, she was shivering, though how she could possibly be cold, he didn't know. Her skin was hot to the touch, much too hot to be healthy, and he nearly drew his hand back. She coughed, and a small trickle of blood flowed from her mouth. He gently wiped away the blood, and for once, she turned away from his touch.

"Do you think it hurts?"

"Do I think what hurts, Mrs. Lovett?" he asked in his usual monotone.

"Dying." she replied, still not facing him.

"Mrs. Lovett," he turned her face toward him, cringing inwardly at the heart radiating from her pale skin, "You aren't going to die. In a few months, you'll be living with Toby by the sea."

Weakly, she smiled, and coughed again, another thin line of blood escaping her lips.

"What about you, Mr. T?"

He smiled,wanting to cause her as little pain as possible.

"I'll be there, Mrs. Lovett." he answered gently.

"Thank you." she whispered, closing her eyes.

Gently, he took her hand, watching her chest rise and fall with every weak breath she took. He felt a strange sense of sorrow when he thought of her death, which was undoubtedly very near. She was, after all, his Mrs. Lovett, the one person who had stood by him even when no one else had, even when he had threatened her life. Silently, he watched her breathing weaken and slow, but still he held her hand in his own. It was as if a large weight had been placed on him as her chest was still as she took her final breath.

"Sleep easy, my pet. I'll meet you by the sea soon enough. Goodbye, Mrs. Lovett."