AN: I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE SWEENEY TODD: DEMON BARBER OF FLEET STREET FRANCHISE!
Me: Meant to update earlier, but I was at the 'Race for the Cure' for breast cancer with my mom, my English 9 teacher, and my mom's co-workers.
Arya: Anyways, on with our lovely's story!
Annabeth and Ajihad: Don't forget to review!
Athena: Even if you hate it, criticism is welcome ^^

Chapter Eleven: The Notebook,

Mrs. Lovett, dazed by the fact that he'd told her he had affections for her, took a moment to register his words and act upon them herself. Carefully, she rose, timid and quiet for once in her life. She took one small step towards him, barely breathing, almost as if she thought him a frightened rabbit that might run off if she moved too quickly before it. Not quite sure what to do beyond that, even though she had had such great confidence the first time he had said something that might allow her to touch him or kiss him or hold him. For once in Margery's life, she was at a complete loss for all words or movement.
Mr. Todd, sensing this strange behavior of his normally stubborn and opinionated land-lady, looked back to her. He took a small step towards her, reaching up a silent hand and taking her own in it's grasp. He looked at her pleadingly, almost as if asking for her forgiveness, a rare slimmer of guilt shining lightly in his eyes. She managed to lock eyes with him, still not able to speak, transferring her confusion to him before looking down and stepping away from him, heading towards the door. Before she closed it behind herself however, she muttered;
"'M sorry Mr. T,"

Once inside her shop, she flipped the sin on her door from 'Open', to 'Sold Out', telling James and Madeleine to shoo any customers from the store, knowing full well she still had enough pies to go for at least another hour. She hurried to the parlor, locking the door behind her before sinking against the wall, burying her face against the door, letting her confusion poor from her eyes in the form of tears, allowing them to sink into her dress, not really caring what-so-ever if it got ruined in the process.
She was so confused and lost by the barber's words. She couldn't tell if they were real or if he was using her, whether he meant them, or if she was simply a tool in his life, used only when needed and locked away for the rest of the time. Mrs. Lovett had lost all track of time as she let the tears pour down her cheeks, staining their pale features. Eventually, even though she had tried to resist it, the urge to sleep had made her succumb to her dreams.

Mr. Todd paced in his shop above, continually staring at the floor or out of the window, as if hoping answers would come to him that way. Why had she left him after he had confessed what she had been waiting for for nearly a year? The question had burned itself upon him, branding him, continuing to smolder lest he find the answer to this question. He loved her, though he despised the idea, he did not despise her. She had become his greatest friend, his only friend. 'Idiot', was the only thought resounding through his head. He'd ruined his relationship, his last one at that, with Mrs. Lovett.
No, not Mrs. Lovett, he was over with that, Margery, maybe even Nellie if she'd let him. There had to be a way to win her back, make her see he simply needs her, even just as a friend, near him, everyday of every year. Now, what was that dream that she had always had? Damn it all, why hadn't he been listening when she babbled that day! Frustrated, Sweeney sat down on the edge of his bed pulled out a notebook that he used specifically for moments when he was so frustrated he couldn't stand it, moments exactly like this.
Opening the small, black, sketch-pad styled notebook to the first blank page, he found himself drawing something. As he continued, not quite sure what he was supposed to be drawing, he noticed the features of a familiar person. Smiling after a while, he looked at his finished work and stared into the pencil-leaded eyes of Mrs. Lovett. That's when the dream had hit him, he remembered it now!
Wanting to race downstairs and burst through her shop door, he restrained himself, realizing just how late in the night it had gotten. Sighing, he mentally wrote down his plan and put the notebook in it's former place before removing his blood-stained shirt and placing a fresh white shirt without the vest on and climbed into bed, trying, unsuccessfully, to fall into sleep.