A/N: This was co-written with Dreig, my beta-reader (and for who I beta). Basically this is an introduction to a giant amount of Sherstrade/Johncroft crack. It's a fun little piece, ficlets tied together. They'll be posted in separate fics (one for each pairing, then the tips all together), and then there will be some side-by pieces that you can read with or without the crack. They will all be appropriately labeled. I think.

Basically it's going to be fantastic and some of the prompts have made me cry because they're so freaking funny.

You can find me at my tumblr under this username, and Dreig can be found under Dreigiau dot tumblr dot com. Check her out. :D The first prompt-prompts will be posted probably this weekend (maybe earlier?) and they'll be their own fics!

The night air was alight with the blue flash of emergency vehicles, announcing the presence of several police cars and an ambulance, as a black car rolled to a stop at the curb. The door opened and Mycroft climbed out, his umbrella hooked over his arm. He strode past the emergency vehicles, for the arrest that they were making was of no interest to him. His younger brother was leaning against a car, speaking with John Watson. The doctor was clearly making his excuses to leave, and after a moment he stepped away from Sherlock with a wink and a head tilt in Lestrade's direction. Sherlock watched John's retreating form for moment before turning back to the scene, scowling as he caught sight of Mycroft. The politician paused outside of the police tape, leaning on his umbrella.

"Another successful case, I see," Mycroft commented. "Such a shame that your ability in flirting is remiss, perhaps you would have completed it some days ago."

"Mycroft," Sherlock said with a dismissive snort. "As if you have room to remark about my skills at flirting. How was I supposed to know that the likelihood of seducing someone right after their husband's death is low? It always works." Sherlock scowled, turning his gaze to where Greg was standing, trying to comfort a sobbing woman.

Mycroft inclined his head, following Sherlock gaze. He twisted the point of his umbrella against the ground as he considered his brother's words. He smiled thinly as the woman pointed an accusatory finger in Sherlock's direction and was gently shushed by the DI.

"My skill in the subject is quite honed, in fact," he replied. "I believe you will find that I take into account the context, Sherlock. It is rather important in such delicate then, you never did practice the skill, did you? Not in a situation in which you were actually interested in the intended outcome."

Sherlock bristled like a hedgehog, puffing up his coat as he stood up as tall as possible. He forced a fake smile onto his face. Mycroft did not change his posture as Sherlock tried to intimidate him, instead watching with a raised eyebrow. The younger man had always had a flair for the dramatic, a tendency to try to appear threatening when he was unhappy with a situation. A sort of peacockery about him. If Mycroft used such words, he would have deemed the attempt adorable.

"And by what standards do you consider your skill to be honed, Mycroft? You don't seem to have the natural outcome of a particular interest in such skills." Sherlock arched an eyebrow, smirking. "Context is irrelevant, as is a genuine interest in the subject. Boring. Inefficient." He scoffed. "There is no point in being invested in an outcome if there was no chance of it being successful, nor if there is a lack of genuine interest in the first place." Sherlock realized that he had not torn his gaze away from the DI and forced his attention back to his brother, only to see Mycroft smirk at his obvious effort. "Now do go away."

"A lack of time for the outcome does not indicate a lack of practice, nor a lack of success. Moreover, dear brother, were my attempts successful you would be the last to know about it. Context, as you have proven in this case, is very important. And I do not believe a lack of genuine interest is your problem. Worried that you will fail?"

Sherlock ignored him, sauntering a few feet away so that he could settle against the wall, pulling his mobile out of his pocket. "Don't you have a war to be starting, Mycroft?"

Mycroft pointedly ignored the hint, strolling after his brother and pausing a short distance from him. He did not lean on the wall, for it was likely dirty and he did not want to ruin a perfectly decent suit. He watched Sherlock fiddle with his mobile for a moment, swinging his umbrella around once before nodding to himself.

"You remember when we were younger, Sherlock? I assume that you have not deleted everything from our childhood. Such disagreements would be settled through a contest, would they not?" He glanced pointedly across to where Lestrade was still standing. "Unless, of course, you do not believe you would win and wish to forfeit before we begin."

Sherlock bristled at his brother's words, his pride wounded. Ignoring the pointed glance, he brought the full force of his glare to bear against his brother. "You're trying to get me to forfeit because you know you can't win."

Once again, Mycroft ignored Sherlock's attempt to intimidate him. "Certainly not, brother. I am simply making sure that you are aware of your options."

Sherlock glance flickered to Lestrade and then back, but this time he didn't even bother to hide it. Mycroft could almost see the train of thought that Sherlock was following; the assumption that because he was used to delegating tasks there would be no way that he could win a task which would require legwork. "You don't have a target. Are you sure you would rather not forfeit?"

"It would appear that you have chosen your target, and I do wish you luck with your efforts. As for myself, I do have a target in mind. I worked yours out, I shall leave you to do the same." Mycroft turned on his heel, facing towards his car.

"You're going to pick one of your lackeys, aren't you?" Sherlock snorted. "Makes sense you would go for an easy target."

"As one of the requirements is an interest in the target, none of my 'lackeys' as you call them, are suitable. That shall be the only clue that I offer you, do take note." Mycroft remained facing away from his brother, though he spoke clearly so that Sherlock would still be able to hear him. "There are, of course, rules. No interfering in each other's attempts, no revealing the contest to either target, and the winner shall be the first to have their target refer to there being a relationship. Do you agree to the terms?"

"Acceptable. Any limitations as to research parameters?" Sherlock asked.

"The only limitation is that you may not ask the subject about the flirting techniques which they employ, or would respond to. Otherwise, any research is allowed." Mycroft replied after a moment of pause to consider which rules to lay down, and the exact wording that should be used to make sure that his brother could not find a loophole. "I shall be by to visit you at home soon, so that we may keep up which each others progress. Good evening." Mycroft strolled away, back towards the car which would return him to his office. The likelihood of Sherlock allowing him to have the last word was minimal, and he knew it well.

Sherlock scowled at his brother's back, although he did not react further. He was miffed that Mycroft had been so controlled, and was mildly suspicious of what ulterior motives were lurking underneath his words.

"I doubt the magazines you have hidden in your bedroom will be much help with seduction techniques," Sherlock called after him with a smirk. "They're too tied up to get away." With that Sherlock strode off imperiously, beckoning for a cab as he did so.