That's the Throat to Slit
I do not own "Sweeney Todd." If I did, I'd have something better to do than this, I'm sure.
This is based on what Mrs. Lovett says after they agree to let Anthony bring Johanna to the shop. It was originally just a "what if" story, but it's kind of turning into an alternative ending, I think, if Anthony and Johanna had gotten there after the judge and beadle were disposed of, and Lucy… she doesn't matter. Think what you like, as long as Sweeney doesn't know and he and Mrs. Lovett are still alive.
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"You wanted a word, Mr. Todd?" The jangling bells on the barber's door gave one bright protest as the door swung into Anthony bag, already slung over his shoulder. He wouldn't even need to duck into the pie shop before he threw it in the waiting coach. Only call Johanna -his Johanna- to come and they would be gone.
His Johanna, Sweeney thought, who this sailor had just been kissing long enough for Sweeney to climb the stairs to his parlor and cross to the dark window. The dirty water still dripped from the glass and into his damp hair, adding to his frustration. But after his hasty cleaning, suitable only while the night hid the remaining red streaks, he could still detect the metallic scent of blood. It gave him strength to suppress a cringe as he heard their lips part before Anthony followed his friend.
His fingers closed around his favorite razor as he thought of it again. Yes, he actually heard it through the wet planks of the floor, despite the part of him that wanted to believe it was the click of Mrs. Lovett's stacked plates of perhaps her heels on the floor.
"Yes, Anthony. Come in."
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"Well now, ain't he just the proper gentleman," Mrs. Lovett remarked dryly. Johanna sat quietly in a shadowed booth, her fair features flushed with a touch of embarrassment and a number of less modest emotions.
"Yes, ma'am," the girl answered dreamily, not even noticing the question's sarcastic tone. Her voice was soft and high, her lovely little chin tucked shyly towards her slender neck. Even with her hair tucked beneath the sailor's woolen cap, she reminded Nellie so much of her mother. Beautiful, tender, smitten, just like Lucy had been.
And foolish. But she's not to blamed, poor thing, without even a bit of motherly advice, no one to bring her up a sensible young woman that can survive in a wretched place like London. Well, that'll soon change, she thought, glancing at the door Anthony had just left by.
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"I wanted to thank you again, Mr. Todd, for helping me free Johanna." Anthony sat in the trick chair, staring at the barber's back as his friend toyed with the polished silver blade in his hand. In the dark of the shop, the razor and Sweeney's pale skin caught the eerie light of the moon. He seemed a ghost, and was as unresponsive as any spirit. "Mr. Todd."
"Where will you take her?" His question - his voice low, hoarse, quiet - was nearly swallowed up in the silence. He wasn't sure why he wanted to know. Gone was gone, and he wouldn't let her go with anyone. She was his daughter, and she'd already been stolen once, stolen with the rest of his life. He had to see her, see Lucy's living shadow, to keep her with him and know that it wasn't all lost.
"Plymouth, sir." Mr. Todd looked back over his shoulder, fixing a sideways glance at the younger man. His dark eyes glinted with an emotion Anthony didn't quite recognize, reminding him of the edge of that gleaming blade. "In Devon."
Finally Sweeney turned, showing the sailor and empty smile. "By the sea." He flicked the razor open deftly. "I'm sure she'll be very happy."
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If you don't review, don't worry. I write Shakespeare fanfiction, so I'm used to it. But if you'd like to give your opinion on whether of not Anthony should have his throat cut, please do.