A/N: For those of you who have read "The Monkey's Paw," it's a little bit like that =O

~Shovels and Merry-go-rounds~

"Judge Turpin!"

"Beadle Bamford!"

The deadliest man-woman team in London stood contemplating the unlikely forms of Judge and servant-lackey gliding out of the mist like a bad dream.

"It's like a dream," said Sweeney in a choked up voice, finding the pent-up emotions of fifteen years too difficult to express in anything but a cliché.

"Well," came the baker's chirpy voice after an adequate moment of serious silence, "you'd best prepare for your shave-cut-arghh moment," said Mrs Lovett, making a slicing gesture against her throat. She put her arms on the barber's back, ready to propel him into the darkness of the barber shop like a circus master.

"Wait." Sweeney smelt a rat when he, well, smelt it. He wondered if killing all those rats in the kitchen hadn't somehow twisted his partner's mind. "What did you mean about my "second wish" exactly?"

"Oh nothin' love, you know wot they say about bakers losin' their marbles after their 'usbands die an' they only 'as rats an' roaches for company -"

He gripped her hand in a vice-like trap. He'd had many years of practice on squeezing coins from the hands of men who refused to pay for haircuts back in that god-forsaken colony. Everyone knew convicts never paid for a shave. "Don't act those money-starved grisettes, my pet, I know you far better. That brain of yours is ticking over like a wound-up cuckoo clock. Now talk." He squeezed harder. After all, he only had thirty seconds before the Judge and the Fat One came up demanding whatever satisfaction they demanded. And the Judge would be none-too-pleased, seeing Johanna out of her cage.

"Don't be mad love," she puffed and pouted, knowing she had less than ten seconds before her object of desire crunched her bones up better than the meat grinder in the bakehouse, "but you wished for your wife an' child ter come back to you. Surprise!"

Sweeney turned like a man fastened with his neck around a noose. "That isn't Lucy. My Lucy has yellow hair and laughing eyes like the sun. Johanna was just a babe in my arms the last time I -"

The cunning man thought hard.

"See the thing is -" Mrs Lovett chewed her bottom lip. She couldn't bring herself to do it.

He guessed it anyway. "Lucy was never dead."

"Bingo, Mr T. Now don't be mad, I did it all for - BLEEDIN' CATFISH MR T!" The baker lifted her broken wrist dangling in the air, courtesy Mr Todd. It looked a bit like one of the limp hands of those dead men dropped down from the trap door. Or a dead white fish. Mrs Lovett knew she wouldn't be able to eat fish again for a long while.

Sweeney looked blackly at her. He didn't take out his razors, because he was in "polite" company. He'd murder her later. He settled for cursing under his breath instead. "Liars, perverts, and blackmailers -"

"Oh my!" said Johanna, seeing the furious man stalk towards her.

Lucy wasn't dead. She was the filthy beggar woman all along. And the girl - his babe, must be this fifteen year old little midget, frail-boned and wispy, insect-birded ward of Judge - "Turpin," he spat, extending his right hand to shake hands with the clearly bewildered Judge.

"What is the meaning of this, Mr Todd?" The Judge was not amused. It was difficult to decipher Beadle Bamford's thoughts, as he was rather busy snorting himself into an early grave.

Not as early, however, as Mrs Lovett's would be.

"I'll be goin' in now love," said Mrs Lovett painfully, hiding her dangling wrist behind her back.

"No," Sweeney growled. "You ought to be thanked Mrs Lovett, for rescuing this child from the clutches of the sailor-boy."

Judge Turpin's hackles were immediately raised. "The sailor!?"

"Yes," the barber lied smoothly. "I found this poor, shaken creature wandering around Fleet Street, near out of her wits. This lady raised the alarm, and I ran after the fiend as quick as I could. Your ward sir, is safe and sound."

"You shall be rewarded," said the Judge with a steely eye. "I was thinking of coming for a shave today, but after the events you have just related, I feel it urgent to return Johanna and seek out this deviant."

"Naturally," replied the barber, feeling even worse than when he had first stepped off the Bountiful and heard what had become of his loved ones.

"Oh happy day!" said the Beadle unnecessarily.

Mrs Lovett had Johanna's arms pinned behind her back with her good wrist.

"Please Madam," begged Johanna, "if you have an ounce of sympathy left in your haggard face, release me!"

The baker considered the proposition. If she did, Sweeney would kill her. If she didn't, he was going to kill her later on regardless. "Maybe I'll get another wish," she said aloud.

"Ferret!" shrieked the beggar woman again.

Sweeney felt repulsed by the entire business. He felt used and cheated by both Pirelli and his teabag. Mrs Lovett had had her wish granted, but what about his wish? Lucy had not been returned to him. Instead there was this foul-mouthed bonneted thing, trying to climb up the drain-pipe to "get insy-winsy spider out" or whatever nonsense she was garbling. If only he had a second wish.

Funnily enough, Mrs Lovett was wishing for the same thing. "I wish Sweeney Todd wos in love wif me an' we wos happily married by the sea," she blurted, careful this time to formulate her wish carefully, in light of Mr Todd's last blunder.

"You've done it this time, pet!" The barber roared, drawing out his twin blades.

"Devil!" shouted Judge Turpin, snatching past Mrs Lovett to reach Johanna. He yanked on the woman's broken wrist by accident.

She slapped him automatically with her free hand, and the Judge stumbled back, his entire 1.8 metre frame tumbling into his pint-sized servant.

"You're all mad!" screamed Johanna, taking off with her skirts trailing in the mud.

"Mongoose!" said the beggar woman, lifting her skirts in the exact same manner and chasing after her daughter.

It was a bit like a merry-go-round.

The beggar woman running after Joanna, Sweeney running after the beggar woman and Joanna, Mrs Lovett running after Sweeney, Judge Turpin running after Sweeney and Johanna, Beadle Bamford running after Judge Turpin.

"Blimey, all this runnin' 'as me knees done in!" Mrs Lovett stopped and panted.

"Mrs Lovett?" Sweeney Todd had also stopped running, and was looking at her rather oddly.

"Yes, Mr T?" she asked hopefully.

"Do we have any shovels?" He began marching her back to the pie shop.

The rest of the running race turned the corner of Fleet Street. He didn't seem to care about Lucy and Johanna - for the moment.

Maybe this was a sign? "I think so," she said uncertainly. "Why?"

"So I can dig a grave, and bury you in it."

* * *